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IT WAS THE LAST SHOT. AS HE FIRED IT LARRY LEAPED TO ONE 
SIDE TO ESCAPE THE LION’S CLAWS. 







Larry Dexter , Reporter 



LARRY DEXTER, 
REPORTER 


OR 

STRANGE ADVENTURES IN A 
GREAT CITY 


BY 

HOWARD R. GARIS 

AUTHOR OF “FROM OFFICE BOY TO REPORTER,” “THE ISLE OF 
BLACK FIRE,” “THE WHITE CRYSTALS,” ETC., ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW YORK 

CHATTERTON-PECK COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 

Pi 


THE GREAT NEWSPAPER 
SERIES 

By HOWARD R. GARIS 

FROM OFFICE BOY TO REPORTER 
Or, The First Step in Journalism 

LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

Or, Strange Adventures in a Great City 

(i Other volumes in preparation) 

Cloth. Illustrated. Price, per volume, $1.00 



Copyright, 1907 

BY 

CHATTERTON-PECK COMPANY 
Larry Dexter , Reporter 


T#Afi3 FlIIRE.0 FROM 

r/iAy a 






THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS 
RAHWAY, N. J. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. A Reporter’s Mistake . 



• 


PAGE 

I 

II. 

Amateur Night 



• 


IO 

III. 

On Track of a Deal . 



• 


19 

IV. 

On a Chowder Party . 



• 


28 

V. 

Man Overboard! . 



• 


36 

VI. 

Larry in Danger . 





45 

VII. 

Larry Has an Offer 



• 


53 

VIII. 

The Agent’s Proposition 



• 


61 

IX. 

The Big Safe-Robbery 



• 


69 

X. 

Working up the Clew . 



• 


78 

XI. 

A Search for the Blue Hand 


• 


86 

XII. 

Larry Meets His Old Enemy 


• 


94 

XIII. 

In Which the Deed is Missing 


• 


102 

XIV. 

A Strange Offer . 



• 


hi 

XV. 

Sign of the Blue Hand 



• 


119 

XVI. 

A Vain Quest 

• 


• 


127 

XVII. 

Setting a Trap 

• 


• 


136 

XVIII. 

Election Night . • . 

• 


• 


145 

XIX. 

A Queer Letter . 

• 


• 


155 

XX. 

Solving the Cipher 

• 


• 


162 

XXI. 

The Gas Explosion 

• 


# 


170 

XXII. 

A Family Heirloom 

• 


• 


178 

XXIII. 

Mysterious Notes 

• 


• 


186 


iii 


IV 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXIV. 

The Circus 





PAGE 

195 

XXV. 

The Last Warning . 


• 

• 

. 

204 

XXVI. 

Larry’s Narrow Escape 


• 

• 

. 

212 

XXVII. 

Jimmy is Missed 


• 

• 

, 

221 

XXVIII. 

An Anxious Search . 


• 

• 

. 

230 

XXIX. 

In the Enemy’s Power 


• 

• 

. 

238 

XXX. 

Jimmy Held Captive 


• 

• 

. 

247 

XXXI. 

Searching for the Lost 


• 

• 

. 

255 

XXXII. 

In Quest of Peter . 


• 

• 

. 

263 

XXXIII. 

On the Right Track 


• 

• 

, 

271 

XXXIV. 

Closing In . 


• 

• 

, 

279 

XXXV. 

Nearing the End 


• 

• 

, 

288 

XXXVI. 

The Raid . 



• 

, 

296 

XXXVII. 

What the Old Deed Brought 

• 

. 

304 



INTRODUCTION 


My Dear Boys. — Those of you who were in- 
terested in the first story of this series, telling 
how Larry Dexter rose from a copy boy to be- 
come a reporter, may desire to follow his further 
adventures as a newspaper worker. Many of 
the occurrences told of in this volume are actual 
ones. In some I participated personally. In oth- 
ers newspaper friends of mine were concerned, 
though I have made some slight changes from 
what actually happened. 

The tracing of the blue-handed man, who blew 
open the safe by means of nitro-glycerine, is an 
actual fact, having taken place in the city where 
I live. He was arrested afterwards because a 
detective observed the stains left by the acid on 
his fingers. The riot in Chinatown is similar to 
several that have occurred there, and kidnap- 
pings, such as befell Jimmy, are common enough 
in New York. There are few reporters, espe- 
cially on the large papers, who have not gone 


vi 


INTRODUCTION 


through as thrilling incidents as those which hap- 
pened to Larry, for, as I can vouch from many 
years’ experience, a newspaper man’s life is any- 
thing but a quiet and uneventful one. 

Yours sincerely, 

Howard R. Garis. 


July i, igoy. 


LARRY DEXTER, 
REPORTER 


CHAPTER I 
a reporter's mistake 

“Copy!” 

The city editor's voice rang out sharply, and 
he held in his extended hand a bunch of paper, 
without lifting his eyes from the story he was; 
going over with a correcting pencil. There was 
no answer save the clicking of half a score of 
typewriters, at which sat busy reporters. 

“Copy!” cried the editor once more. There 
was a shuffle among a trio of boys on the far side 
of the room. 

“Copy! copy!” fairly shouted the exasperated 
editor, as he shook the papers, looking up from 
his work towards the boys who were now advanc- 
ing together on a run. “What’s the matter with 
all of you? Getting deaf, or are you tired of 
work ? When you hear ‘Copy’ called at this time 
of day you want to jump! Now all the way up 
to the composing room with that, Bud. It’s got 
to make the first edition!” 

“Yes, sir!” exclaimed Bud Nelson, head copy 


2 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


boy on the New York Daily Leader , one of the 
largest afternoon papers of the metropolis, as he 
raced upstairs to where the clicking type-setting 
machines were in noisy operation. 

“You boys must be more lively,” went on Mr. 
Bruce Emberg, the city editor. “This is not a 
playroom nor a kindergarten. You must learn 
to jump up whenever you hear the assistant city 
editor or myself call ‘Copy/ I make some allow- 
ances for you boys who have not been here long, 
but it must not occur again.” 

The two remaining lads went back to their 
bench looking a little startled, for, though Mr. 
Emberg was a kind man, he could be severe when 
there was occasion for it. 

“Did he give you a laying-out?” asked Bud, 
of his companions, when he returned. 

“I just guess yes,” replied Charles Anderson, 
the tallest of the copy boys. “You ought to have 
heard him!” 

“I was so busy telling you fellows about the 
party last night I didn’t hear him call,” said Bud. 
“We’ll have to be more careful, or we’ll lose our 
jobs.” 

“Copy!” called the editor again, and this time 
the three reached the desk almost at the same 
instant. 

“That’s the way to do it,” remarked Mr. Em- 
berg. “That’s what I like to see.” , 

For the next few minutes there was a busy 
scene in the city room of the Leader. Reporters 


A REPORTER’S MISTAKE 


3 


were writing like mad on their typewriters, and 
rushing with the loose sheets of paper over to the 
desk of the city editor or his assistant. These, 
and two copy readers, rapidly scanned the stories, 
made whatever corrections were necessary, put 
headings, or “heads,” as they are called, on them, 
and gave them to the copy boys. 

The lads ran out to the pneumatic tube that 
shot the copy to the composing room, or, in case 
of an important story, took it upstairs themselves 
so that it would receive immediate attention from 
the foreman. 

The boys were running to and fro, as if in 
training for a race, typewriters were clicking as 
fast as though the operators were in a speed con- 
test, the editors were slashing whole pages from 
stories to make them shorter, and the copy read- 
ers were doing likewise. 

“Hurry up that stuff, Jones !” exclaimed the 
editor to one reporter. “You’ve only got two 
minutes !” 

“Here it is!” cried Jones, yanking the last 
page from his typewriter. 

For two minutes there was a wilder scene of 
activity than ever. Then came a comparatively 
quiet spell. 

“That’s all we can make for the first,” re- 
marked the editor, with something like a breath 
of relief. “We did pretty well.” 

The editor looked over a book that lay open 
in front of him on his desk. The cover was 


4 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


marked “Assignments, ” and it was the volume in 
which memoranda of all the items that were to 
be gotten that day appeared. The editor glanced 
down the page. 

“Here, Larry!” he called to a tall, good-look- 
ing youth, who was seated at a small desk. “Get 
this obituary, will you ? It’s about a man over on 
the West Side. He was ninety-eight years old, 
and belonged to a well-known New York family.” 

“Shall I get his picture?” asked Larry Dexter, 
as he came forward to go out on the assign- 
ment. 

“No, we haven’t time to make it to-day. Just 
get a brief sketch of his life. Hurry back.” 

Larry got his hat from the coat room, and left 
the office. He was. the newest reporter on the 
Leader. The other reporters spoke of him as the 
“cub,” not meaning anything disrespectful, but 
y only to indicate that he was the “freshman,” the 
apprentice, or whatever one considers the begin- 
ner in any line of work. Larry was a sort of 
fledgling at the business, though he had been on 
the Leader a number of months. 

He began as a copy boy, just like one of the 
lads whom Mr. Emberg had cautioned about 
being in a hurry. Larry, with his mother, 
his sisters, Lucy, aged thirteen, and Mary, aged 
five, and his brother, James, lived in a fairly good 
tenement in New York City. They had come 
there from the village of Campton, New York, 
where Larry’s father, who had been dead a few 


A REPORTER’S MISTAKE 


5 


years, once owned a fine farm. But reverses had 
overtaken the family, and some time after Mr. 
Dexter's death the place was sold at auction. 

When the place had been disposed of, Mrs. 
Dexter desired to come to New York to live with 
her sister, Mrs. Edward Ralston. But, as related 
in the first volume of this series, entitled, “From 
Office Boy to Reporter; or, The First Step in 
Journalism,” when Mrs. Dexter, with Larry and 
the other children, reached the big city, they 
found that Mrs. Ralston’s husband had been 
killed a few days before in an accident. Mrs. 
Ralston, writing a hasty letter to her sister, had 
gone to live with other relatives in a distant state. 

But Mrs. Dexter did not receive this letter on 
time, in consequence of having hastily undertaken 
the journey from Campton, and so did not hear of 
her sister’s loss until she reached the house where 
Mrs. Ralston had lived. The travelers made the ^ 
best of it, however, and were cared for by kind 
neighbors. 

Larry soon secured work as an office, or copy, 
boy on the Leader, through one day being able 
to help Harvey Newton, one of the best reporters 
on the paper, at an exciting fire. 

In those days Larry had trouble with Peter 
Manton, a rival copy boy, and he was kidnapped 
by some electric cab strikers who thought he was 
a reporter they wanted to pay off an old score on. 

The lad and Mr. Newton were sent to report a 
big flood in another part of the state, where the 


6 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


big dam broke, and where many persons were in 
danger of being drowned. 

While in the flooded district Larry met his old 
enemy, Peter, and there was a race between them 
to see who would get some copy, telling of the 
flood, to the telegraph office first. Larry won, 
and for this good work was promoted from an 
office boy to be a regular reporter. In the course 
of his duties as a copy boy he once saved a valu- 
able watch from being stolen by pickpockets from 
a celebrated doctor, and the physician, in his 
gratitude, operated on Larry’s sister Lucy, who 
suffered from a bad spinal disease, and cured her. 

This made the family feel much happier, as 
now Lucy could go about like other girls, and 
did not have to spend many hours in a big chair. 
Larry’s advancement also brought him a larger 
salary, so there was no further need for Mrs. 
Dexter to take in sewing. They were able also 
to move to a better apartment, though not far 
from where they had first settled. 

Larry was able to put a little money in the 
bank, to add to the nest-egg of one thousand dol- 
lars which he received as a reward for finding 
the Reynolds jewels, though the thieves were not 
apprehended. 

Larry had been acting in his new position as 
reporter about eight months when, on the morn- 
ing that our story opens, he was sent to get the 
obituary of the aged man. In this time he had 
learned much that he never knew before, and 


A REPORTER’S MISTAKE 


7 


which would not have come to him in his capacity 
as copy boy. He had, as yet, been given only 
easy work, for though he had shown “a nose for 
news,” as it is called, which means an ability to 
know a story when it comes one’s way, Mr. Em- 
berg felt the “cub” had better go a bit slow. 

The young reporter managed to get what in- 
formation he wanted without much trouble. He 
came back to the office, and wrote it up by hand, 
for he had not learned yet to use a typewriter. 
While he was engaged on the “obit,” as death 
accounts are called for brevity, he had his eyes 
opened to something which stood him in good 
stead the rest of his life. 

The first editions of other New York afternoon 
papers, all rivals of the Leader , had come into the 
Leader office. Mr. Emberg was glancing over 
them to see if his sheet had been beaten on any 
stories; that is, whether any of the other journals 
had stories which the Leader did not have, or 
better ones than those on similar subjects that 
appeared in the Leader. 

“Hello! What’s this?” the city editor ex- 
claimed, suddenly. “Here’s a big story of a fight 
at that Eleventh Ward political meeting, in the 
Scorcher. Who covered that meeting for us?” 

“I did,” replied a tall, thin youth. 

“Did you have anything good in your story?” 
the editor asked. 

“No — no, sir,” stammered the youth, as he 
saw the angry look on the editor’s face. 


8 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“Why not?” 

“Because there wasn’t any meeting,” replied 
the luckless scribe. “It broke up in a free 
fight!” 

“It what?” fairly roared the city editor. 

“It broke up in a fight. The candidates tried 
to speak, but the crowd wouldn’t let ’em. They 
called ’em names, and then they made a rush, and 
upset the stand, and there was a free fight. I 
couldn’t hear any of the speeches, so I came 
away.” 

“You what?” asked the editor, trying to speak 
calmly. The room seemed strangely quiet. 

“I came away. I thought you sent me to re- 
port the political meeting, but there wasn’t any. 
It broke up in a fight,” repeated the reporter. 

“I thought you said you were a newspaper 
man,” the city editor remarked. “I wouldn’t 
have hired you if I knew you had had no ex- 
perience.” 

“I did have some. I — I,” began the unfor- 
tunate one. 

“It must have been as society scribbler on the 
Punktown Monthly Pink Tea Gazette,” exclaimed 
Mr. Emberg. “Why, you don’t know enough 
about the business to report a Sunday school pic- 
nic. 

“If you were sent to a house to get an ac- 
count of a wedding,” went on Mr. Emberg, “and 
while there the house should burn down, and all 
the people be killed, I suppose you would come 


A REPORTER’S MISTAKE 


9 


back and say there wasn’t any wedding, it was a 
fire! Would you?” 

“No — no, sir.” 

“Well, I guess you would! I don’t believe 
you’re cut out for the newspaper business. The 
idea of not reporting a meeting because it broke 
up in a fight! It’s enough to make — but never 
mind! You can go to the cashier and get what 
money is coming to you. We can’t afford to have 
mistakes like that occur. This is the best story 
in many a day. Why, they must have had a regu- 
lar riot up there, according to the Scorcher. Here, 
Smith,” the city editor went on, turning to an 
older reporter, “see what there is in this, and fix 
up a story,” and Mr. Emberg handed over the 
article he had clipped from the rival paper. It 
was a bad beat on the Leader. 

“I hope I never make a mistake like that,” 
thought Larry, as he turned in his article. “My, 
that was a call-down !” 


CHAPTER II 


AMATEUR NIGHT 

The unfortunate reporter who had made the 
mistake, and who had been discharged in conse- 
quence, left the room. He had gained his po- 
sition under somewhat false pretenses, and so 
there was little sympathy felt for him. 

“We don’t want careless work on the Leader ,” 
went on Mr. Emberg, speaking to no one in par- 
ticular. “We want the news, and those who have 
no noses for it had better look alive. We’re 
in the news business, and that’s what we have 
to give the people.” 

The reporter, to whom Mr. Emberg had given 
the clipping, soon ascertained that, in the main, 
it was correct. So a story was made up concern- 
ing the Eleventh Ward meeting, and run in the 
second edition of the Leader , much to the disgust 
of the city editor, who hated to be “beaten.” 

The rebuke the unfortunate reporter received 
produced a feeling of uneasiness among the oth- 
ers on the staff of the Leader , and there were 
many whispered conferences among the men that 
afternoon. However the “ax” did not fall 
again, much to the relief of several who knew 
10 


AMATEUR NIGHT 


11 


they had not been doing as well as they might — 
the “ax” being the reporter’s slang for getting 
discharged. 

When the last edition had been run off on the 
thundering presses in the basement, the report- 
ers gathered in small groups in different parts 
of the room, and began talking over the events 
of the day. Larry saw his friend Harvey New- 
ton come in from an assignment. 

“How did you make out to-day, Larry?” asked 
Mr. Newton. 

“Pretty fair,” responded the boy. “I didn’t 
have any big stories, though.” 

“They’ll come in time. Better go slow and 
sure.” 

“Did you strike anything good?” 

“Not much. I’ve been down to City Hall all 
day, working on a tip I got of some land deal 
a political gang is trying to put through. Some- 
thing about a big tract in the Bronx, but I didn’t 
land it.” 

The remark made Larry stop and think. He 
remembered his mother had, among her papers, 
a deed to some land in that section of New York 
City called the Bronx, because it was near a 
small river of that name. The land had been 
taken by Mr. Dexter in connection with some 
deal, and had never been considered of any value. 
One day, as told in the previous volume, Mrs. 
Dexter was about to destroy the old deed, but 
Larry restrained her. He thought the land might 


12 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

some day be of value. So the document was put 
away. 

When Mr. Newton spoke Larry wondered if, 
by any chance, the land the reporter mentioned 
as being that over which a political deal was 
being made, could be located near that which was 
represented by the old deed. He made up his 
mind to speak of it some time. 

It was now about four o’clock, and, as the re- 
porters went off duty in half an hour, Mr. Em- 
berg was busy over the assignment book. 

The Leader was an afternoon paper, but some- 
times there were things occurring at night that 
had to be “covered” or attended to in order to 
get an account of them for the next day. Usu- 
ally only very important events were covered a* 
night by the Leader , since the morning paper 
or news associations, got accounts of them. 

Mr. Emberg came over toward Larry with a 
slip of paper in his hand. 

“How would you like to try your hand at a 
funny story?” the city editor asked the boy. 

“I’d like to, only I don’t know that I could do 
it. What sort of a story is it?” 

“Amateur night at a theater. Did you ever 
see one ?” 

Larry said he had not, and Mr. Emberg ex- 
plained that the managers of certain cheap thea- 
ters, in order to get some variety, frequently 
had amateur nights at their playhouses. They 
would allow any one who came along to go on 


AMATEUR NIGHT 


13 


the stage between the acts of the regular per- 
formance, and sing, dance, recite, do feats of 
strength, or whatever the amateur considered his 
specialty. 

The audience, for the most part made up of 
young men and women, seldom had much sym- 
pathy to waste on the amateurs, and it must be 
a very brave youth or maiden who essayed to do 
a “stunt” under the circumstances. 

“Here are two tickets to the Jollity Theater,” 
said Mr. Emberg. “Go up there to-night, take 
someone with you if you like, and give us a good 
funny story to-morrow.” 

Larry was delighted at being able to go to the 
theater without paying, but he was a little doubt- 
• ful of his ability to do the story. However, he 
resolved to try. He told his mother of it at sup- 
per that night. 

“I’ll take Jimmy with me,” said Larry. 

“I’m afraid your brother’s too young to go out, 
as you will have to stay rather late,” said Mrs. 
Dexter. “Can’t you take Harry Lake?” refer- 
ring to a boy who lived on the floor below the 
Dexter apartments. 

“I guess I will,” replied the young reporter, 
and soon he and Harry were on their way to the 
theater. 

The play was one of the usual melodramatic 
sort, but to Larry and Harry it was very inter- 
esting. They watched eagerly through the first 
act, as did hundreds around them, but there was 


14 


- LARRY DEXTER. , REPORTER 


more interest displayed when the manager came 
before the curtain. 

He announced that a number of amateurs had 
come to go through their various “turns, ” and 
added that they would be allowed to stay and 
amuse the audience as long as the latter seemed 
to care for the offerings. When too much dis- 
pleasure was manifested the performers would be 
obliged to withdraw, being forcibly reminded to 
leave, sometimes, by being pulled from the boards 
by a long-handled hook which the stage hands 
stuck out from the wings, or sides of the stage. 

“Johnny Carroll, in a song and dance spe- 
cialty,” announced the manager as the first num- 
ber, and then he retired to give place to Johnny. 
The latter proved to be a tall, thin youth, who 
shuffled out upon the stage and stood there look- 
ing about rather sheepishly. 

“Ladies an’ gen’men,” he began in such weak 
tones that someone shouted : 

“Take your voice out yer pocket!” 

“I’m goin’ t’ dance a jig!” cried Johnny, de- 
fiantly, and the orchestra struck up a lively tune. 
Three times the young performer tried to get into 
step, but something seemed to be the matter with 
his feet, for they would not jig. A general laugh 
ran around. 

“I’m goin’ t’ sing!” cried Johnny, in desper- 
ation. “I’ll give you that latest song success, en- 
titled, ‘Give Me Another Transfer, This One 
Has Expired,’ ” and the orchestra began playing 


AMATEUR NIGHT 


15 


the opening strains. Johnny opened his mouth 
to sing, but, as his voice was rather less har- 
monious than a crow’s, he was met with howls 
of laughter. 

“TWt ye was goin’ t’ sing!” someone in the 
top gallery shouted. 

“Give me a chanst !” pleaded the performer. 

“Get the hook! Get the hook!” shouted sev- 
eral, and out from the wings came an instru- 
ment like a shepherd’s crook. Johnny was re- 
moved from the stage, protesting in vain. 

“Sammy Snipe will play the mouth organ,” 
announced the manager, and Sammy came on. 
He seemed to be an old hand at the turn, for he 
entered with an air of confidence, and was greeted 
with some applause. He lost no time in talking, 
but began to play, and made not unmusical 
sounds on the harmonica. He made a “hit” with 
the audience, and there were no discouraging re- 
marks. Sammy played several popular airs, and 
then tried to play a jig and dance it at the same 
time. Sammy would have done better, however, 
to have stopped when he had the approval of his 
audience. Unfortunately he could not divide his 
attention between his playing and his dancing. 
While he could do either separately, when he es- 
sayed both he found he had tried to cover too 
much territory. He started off on a lively air, 
but, no sooner had he danced a few steps, than 
he forgot to keep playing, and he soon lost time. 
Then he tried to start dancing, and come in with 


16 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


the music when he had the jig going well. This, 
too, failed, for he soon forgot to dance, and only- 
played. 

“Take him away; he’s no good!” the audience 
shouted, and then came the fatal call: “Get the 
hook !” and Sammy was removed. 

Next a young woman appeared who tried to 
recite “Curfew Shall Not Ring To-night!” The 
audience either had no regard for the curfew, or 
did not care to hear anything tragic. The young 
woman got as far as the third line when there 
was a series of groans that indicated anything 
but enjoyment. 

“Ding-dong! Ten o’clock! Time’s up!” called 
someone, and the performer retired in confusion. 

Larry and Harry were enjoying the efforts of 
the amateurs more than they had the real show. 
They were anxious for the second act to be over 
to see what the unprofessional performers would 
offer next. 

When the curtain was rung down the second 
time, leaving the heroine in great trouble and dis- 
tress, the next amateur performer was another 
young woman who wanted to recite. She se- 
lected “Paul Revere’s Ride,” and began in a loud 

tone : “Listen, my Children ” but she had only 

gone that far when someone in a high falsetto 
voice called out: 

“Oh mercy, mother, did you put the cat out, 
and lock the door?” 

This was too much for the elocutionist, and 


AMATEUR NIGHT 


17 


she rushed off the stage in confusion. Next ap- 
peared a tall young man with light hair, and a 
purple necktie, who tried to sing: “Come Where 
My Love Lies Dreaming.” He managed to make 
himself heard through two lines, and then such a 
chorus of yells, whistles, and cat-calls, mingled 
with “Get the hook!” broke out, that he had to 
stand helpless. He was game, however, and 
Larry could see, by the motion of the youth’s 
lips, that the performer was going through with 
the song. But not a sound of it was heard, and 
there was no second verse. 

This was followed by two boys who managed 
to get through some buck and wing dancing, win- 
ning hearty applause. Next there was a youth 
who essayed a tumbling act. 

He, too, seemed to please, and did not get the 
“hook.” Not so fortunate, however, was the 
following performer, who was announced as a 
“strong man.” 

Several stage hands carried a number of heavy 
weights out on the boards. The “strong man” 
in pink tights, making several bows, lifted a few 
dumb-bells. 

“Aw, I kin do that meself!” exclaimed a dis- 
gusted newsboy, leaning far over the edge of the 
gallery. “Do a hard one, or go back home.” 

The performer next tackled a big dumb-bell 
that must have weighed several hundred pounds. 
Either he had underestimated its heft, or he had 
overestimated his powers, for he could not budge 


18 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

it. He strained and tugged, but the bell did not 
move. 

“Fake ! No good ! Get the hook !” were some 
of the cries that greeted the man. 

He was pulled from the stage by some of the 
hands, and two of them came on to move the 
weights. Then it was disclosed that a trick had 
been played on the “strong” man for the big 
dumb-bell was merely made of wood, painted to 
resemble iron. It had been fastened to the floor 
with hooks, which accounted for the inability of 
the performer to move it. 

One of the stage hands, unfastening the bell, 
lifted it easily with one hand. Then the laughter 
broke out louder than ever, Larry and Harry 
joining in. 

Between the third and fourth acts other ama- 
teurs appeared. Some did fairly well, but most 
of them had a bad attack of stage fright, or 
were scared by the remarks made to them by the 
audience. Altogether it was a funny experience. 

Larry was so anxious to make a good story 
that he sat up after he reached home that night, 
and wrote it out, just as he had seen it. He gave 
it a lively touch, and made the most of the situ- 
ations. It was with some anxiousness, however, 
that he placed the story on Mr. Emberg’s desk 
the next morning. 


CHAPTER III 


ON TRACK OF A DEAL 

“What’s this?” asked the city editor. 

“That story of amateur night,” replied Larry. 

“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten all about it. I’m glad 
you have the copy in early, as I want you to make 
a quick trip out of town.” 

“Any more floods?” asked Larry, thinking of 
the big one he had helped cover when he was 
a copy boy. 

“Not this time ; this is only to take a run over 
to New Jersey, to a little town called Cranford.” 

“What’s the matter out there?” 

“I want you to see Professor Allen. He is 
to deliver a lecture at the dinner of the Engi- 
neers’ Club to-night, and he has promised a copy 
of his remarks in advance.” 

Larry was soon on his way, crossing the Hud- 
son River on the ferry to the New Jersey side, 
where he took a train for Cranford. He found 
Professor Allen’s house without much trouble, 
and inquired for the gentleman. 

“I don’t believe you can see him,” replied the 
girl who answered the door. 

“Why not; isn’t he at home?” asked Larry. 

19 


20 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“Well, he is and he isn’t,” replied the servant. 
“You see he’s out in his laboratory making ex- 
periments, which is what he’s most always up to, 
and he hasn’t been in to his meals for a week.” 

“Hasn’t he eaten for a week ?” asked Larry, in 
some surprise. 

“Oh, bless your heart, of course he’s eaten, 
but he will not come to the table. His wife has 
to go out to the laboratory with a plate of vic- 
tuals and a cup of coffee, and fairly feed him.” 

“What’s the trouble?” 

“Oh, you see he’s working on a new inven- 
tion.” 

“What sort?” asked Larry, thinking he might 
get a story out of it. 

“Don’t ask me,” cried the servant, with a 
laugh, for she evidently took Larry for some boy 
on an errand. “It’s all about wheels and levers 
and steam and electricity. As near as I can get 
at, it’s a plan to make an automobile out of a 
tea kettle.” 

“Don’t you suppose I could see the professor?” 
asked the young reporter. 

“Well, you can try,” said the girl. “The lab- 
oratory is that small white building down at the 
far end of the yard. Go down there, and walk 
right in. If you knock he’ll never answer. Mrs. 
Allen has just fed him his breakfast, and per- 
haps he’ll talk to you a little.” 

Larry decided this was the only way of secur- 
ing what he wanted, so he made his way to the 


ON TRACK OF A DEAL 


21 


laboratory, and, remembering the injunction, 
entered the door and walked in. 

He found himself in a large room, fairly filled 
with machinery and appliances of all kinds. 
Overhead there were shafts and pulleys, while 
all about the sides were benches, lathes, wheels, 
levers, handles, and springs of various sorts. 

Down in one corner was an elderly gentleman, 
in rather an old and ragged suit, at work over 
a bench. He did not look up as Larry entered, 
but called out: 

“Come here and give me a hand with this. I’m 
in a hurry.” 

Larry looked around to see if the professor 
could be speaking to anyone else, but, finding 
that he was the only one in the room besides the 
scientist, the lad concluded he was the one ad- 
dressed. 

“Hurry, please,” added Mr. Allen, looking 
straight at Larry. “I am in the midst of an im- 
portant experiment.” 

Thereupon Larry went to the bench. Mr. 
Allen was holding one end of a long steel tube 
from which radiated several smaller tubes of 
glass. At one end of the steel tube was a rubber 
pipe which was attached to a gas jet, and at the 
other end of the tube there was another pipe 
which was fastened to a water faucet. 

“Turn on the gas a little more, and then help 
me hold this tube,” spoke the scientist. “I am 
generating steam.” 


22 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


He spoke as though it was the most natural 
thing in the world for Larry to be there, and give 
him assistance. Larry recognized that Mr. Allen 
was too much absorbed in his experiment to care 
who helped him, so the boy lent a hand. 

Larry turned the gas on, and then grasped one 
end of the tube. Mr. Allen held the other. There 
was a curious rumbling sound, followed by a 
roar. 

“Duck ! She’s going to explode again !” cried 
Mr. Allen, dropping his end of the tube, and 
crawling under a table. Larry lost no time in 
following his example. The next instant there 
was a loud report, and pieces of the tube and 
rubber hose were flying in all directions. 

“It’s all over, you can come out now,” re- 
marked the scientist, in a quiet voice, a few sec- 
onds later. 

“Does it often act that way?” inquired Larry, 
earnestly. 

“That’s the twenty-seventh time it has blown 
up,” replied the professor. “I guess the glass is 
not strong enough for the steam.” 

“Isn’t it dangerous?” ventured Larry. 

“Dangerous? Of course it is! That’s what 
I expect in this business. But I have another 
tube here, and we’ll try it again. Just take your 
coat off, and help me.” 

“I’m afraid I haven’t time,” replied the re- 
porter. “I’m from the New York Daily Leader. 
I came to get a copy of your speech.” 


ON TRACK OF A DEAL 


23 


“What’s that?” inquired Mr. Allen, sharply. 

Larry repeated his statement more fully. 

“Bless my soul !” exclaimed the professor. “I 
took you for my assistant’s son. He often helps 
me. I didn’t get a good look at you, I was so 
busy thinking about this steam problem. I hope 
you were not hurt when the explosion came.” 

“Not a bit,” replied Larry. 

“Father! Father! Are you injured?” cried 
a voice, and a woman, much excited, hurried 
into the laboratory. 

“Not a bit, my dear, not a bit,” replied the pro- 
fessor, as he brushed the dust from his clothes. 
“Another tube blew up, that’s all,” and he seemed 
as cheerful as though the experiment had suc- 
ceeded. 

“Oh, those horrible, dangerous steam tubes!” 
exclaimed the lady. Then she saw Larry, and, 
observing he was a stranger, was about to with- 
draw. 

“This is a reporter from the New York 
Leader ,” explained the scientist. “He has come 
for a copy of my speech, and it’s a good thing he 
did. I had forgotten all about delivering it to- 
night. I guess I’ll go in the house, and get 
ready. Come with me,” he added to Larry, “and 
I’ll get the copy for you.” 

“Thank goodness something happened to make 
him come back to civilization,” remarked the 
lady to Larry, as they walked toward the house. 
“He has slept in that laboratory, and taken his 


24 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


meals there ever since he started on this latest 
idea. It’s a good thing you came along, and 
awakened him to some realization that there’s 
something in this world besides those terrible 
steam tubes.” 

“Perhaps the explosion did,” ventured Larry. 

“That? It would take more than an explo- 
sion,” the lady, who was Mr. Allen’s daughter, 
replied. “He’s used to them.” 

Larry went into the house, where, after some 
search, Mr. Allen found a copy of his remarks, 
which he gave to the young reporter. 

“Come out and see me again some day,” the 
scientist invited Larry. “We’ll try that experi- 
ment again.” 

“I’m afraid once is enough for me,” said Larry, 
with a smile. 

He reached his office shortly after noon, and, 
handing in the copy of the speech, which had 
been gotten in advance, so as to be set up ready 
for the next day’s paper. Then he reported at 
the desk, announcing to Mr. Emberg that he was 
ready for another assignment. 

“Take a run down to City Hall,” said the city 
editor. “Mr. Newton is covering it to-day, but 
he is busy on a story, and he telephoned in he had 
no time to make all the rounds of the offices. 
Just see if there are any routine matters he had 
to overlook.” 

It was the first time Larry had ever been as- 
signed to the municipal building alone. He was 


ON TRACK OF A DEAL 


25 


familiar with most of the offices and knew some 
of the officials by sight, as Mr. Newton had fre- 
quently taken him around to “learn him the 
ropes,” as he said. So Larry felt* not a little 
elated, and began to dream of the time when he 
might have important assignments, such as look- 
ing after city matters and politics, matters to 
which New York papers pay great attention. 

Larry went into several offices at the hall, and 
found there was no news. It was rather a dull 
day along municipal and political lines, and there 
were few reporters around the building. Larry 
knew some of them, who nodded to him in a 
friendly way, and asked him whether there was 
“anything new,” a reporter’s manner of inquiring 
for news. 

As Larry had nothing he said so, it being a 
sort of unwritten law among newspaper men not 
to beat each other on routine assignments, unless 
there was some special story they were after. 

It was almost closing hour at the hall, and 
within a few minutes of the time the Leader's 
last edition went to press, that Larry entered the 
anteroom of the City Comptroller’s office. He 
hardly expected there would be any news, and 
he knew if there was it was almost too late for 
that day. However, he was tired, and, as there 
were comfortable chairs in the office, he resolved 
to have a few minutes’ rest, while waiting to 
see the official or the chief clerk to ask if there 
was anything new. 


26 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


It was while sitting there, with his chair tilted 
back against a thin partition, that Larry over- 
heard voices in somewhat loud conversation. At 
first he paid little attention to the matter. But 
when one of the voices became quite loud he 
could not help hearing. 

“I tell you IVe got the whole plan outlined, 
and we can all make big money by it,” someone 
remarked. “I know the lay of the land. It’s 
up in the Bronx.” 

At that Larry began to take some notice, as 
he remembered he and his mother were interested 
in some Bronx property. 

* “The deal is going through, then?” asked an- 
other man. 

“Sure.” 

Now Larry had no intention of eavesdropping, 
and, if he had thought the conversation was of a 
private nature, he would have moved away. But 
it seemed the men had nothing to conceal, for 
they talked loudly. They were probably unaware 
that a transom over the door of the room where 
they were, was open. 

“What makes you so sure the land will be valu- 
able?” asked another voice. 

“Because I know it,” came the answer from 
the one who had first spoken. “There’s going 
to be an ordinance introduced in the Common 
Council soon. Now all we have to do is to buy 

up all the lots ” What followed was in a 

low tone, and Larry could not hear. Then the 


ON TRACK OF A DEAL 


27 


voice went on: “It’s a great game, for it will 
take our votes to pass the ordinance, see?” 

“Won’t there be some danger?” asked some- 
one. 

“Not a bit. There’s only one hitch. I’ve been 
looking the thing up, and I find that the most 
valuable strip of land in the whole tract is owned 
by some man up New York State.” 

“Who is he?” 

“Something like Pexter or Wexter,” was the 
reply, whereat Larry felt his heart beating 
strongly. Suppose it should happen to be the 
land for which his mother held the deed? 

“Can we put the deal through?” several asked 
of the man who was doing the most talking. 

“Sure we can,” was the answer. “Aider- 
man ” 

“Hush! Not so loud!” cautioned a voice. 

“Close that transom,” ordered someone, and 
then Larry moved away, fearing the men might 
come out, and find him listening. He wanted to 
know more of the matter, for he felt sure some 
underhanded game was afoot. 

That afternoon, on the way home, Larry told 
Mr. Newton of what he had heard. 

“I’ll bet there’s some sort of a deal on,” said 
the older reporter. “Glad you happened to over- 
hear that, Larry. I’ll get busy on the tip, and 
maybe we can block the game.” 


CHAPTER IV 


ON A CHOWDER PARTY 

“I’ve got a little trip out of town for you, 
Larry,” said Mr. Emberg the next morning. 
“There will not be much work attached to it, 
unless something unexpected happens.” 

“What sort of an assignment is it?” asked 
Larry. 

“The Eighth Ward Democratic Club is going 
to have an outing to Coney Island,” replied the 
city editor. “It’s a clam chowder party, and, 
while it is mainly to give the members of the 
association a good time, there may be some poli- 
tics discussed.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about politics,” 
answered Larry, somewhat doubtful of his ability 
to cover that kind of an assignment. 

“You’ll never learn any younger,” was Mr. 
Emberg’ s rejoinder, as he smiled at Larry. “Get 
me a good story of what the men do, and I guess 
you’ll not miss much. There are going to be 
some* games down at the beach, in the afternoon, 
races and so on, that may make something funny 
to write about.” 

Mr. Emberg gave Larry a ticket to the chow- 
der outing, and told him where to take the boat. 

28 


ON A CHOWDER PARTY 


29 


“You’re in luck, kid/’ remarked one of the 
older reporters, as he saw the “cub” start on his 
assignment. 

“How so ?” asked Larry. 

“Why, there’s nothing to do except enjoy the 
trip, eat a good dinner, and sit off in the shade 
in the afternoon. It’s one of the few decent 
things we fall into in this business.” 

“Well, if I can get a good story that’s all I 
care about,” responded Larry, who had not been 
a reporter long enough to lose his early enthusi- 
asm. He was always looking for a chance to get 
a good story, and no less on this occasion when 
there was not much of an opportunity. 

Larry made his way to the dock whence the 
boat was to leave. He found a crowd of men at 
the wharf, all of them wearing gaily-colored 
badges, for the Eighth Ward Democratic Club 
was one of the most influential and largest po- 
litical organizations in New York. 

At the dock all was hurry and excitement. A 
band was playing lively airs, and a number of fat 
men were wiping the perspiration from their 
brows, for it was August, and a hot day, and they 
had marched half-way around the ward before 
coming to the boat. 

Scores of men were piling good things to eat 
on the boat, for political outings seem to be al- 
ways regarded as hungry affairs. Larry saw a 
number of other reporters whom he knew slightly, 
and spoke to them. Soon all the newspaper men 


30 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


formed a crowd among themselves, and found a 
comfortable place on the boat, where they sat 
and talked “shop.” 

The older reporters discussed politics, and the 
younger ones conversed about the assignments 
they had recently covered. For, curiously 
enough, though a reporter sees much of life of 
various sorts that might furnish topics of conver- 
sation, no sooner do two or more of them 
get together than they begin discussions of mat- 
ters connected directly with their work. Per- 
haps this is so because everything in life concerns 
reporters, more or less. 

Lunch was served on the boat when it was 
about half-way to the Island, and Larry thought 
he never had tasted anything so good, for the salt 
air made him very hungry. Then such a dinner 
as there was when the grove where the club held 
its outings was reached. 

There was a regular old-fashioned clam chow- 
der and clam-bake in preparation. First came 
the chowder, which, instead of taking the edges 
from sharp appetites, seemed only to increase 
them. Then the members of the club and their 
friends strolled about, sat under trees, or gath- 
ered in little groups to talk, while the clam-bake 
was being made ready. 

Larry thought perhaps he had better go about, 
and see if he could pick up any political tips. He 
spoke about it to one of the other reporters, but 
the latter said : 


ON A CHOWDER PARTY 


31 


“There, now, don’t worry about that, Larry. 
The only time when politics will crop out, if 
they do at all, is after they’ve had their dinners. 
That will loosen their tongues, and we may pick 
up something.” 

So Larry decided he might spend some time 
watching the men prepare the clam-bake. 

First they built a big fire of wood in a sort of 
hollow in the ground. The blaze was so hot it 
was most uncomfortable to go close to it, but the 
cook and his assistants did not appear to mind it. 
They put scores of stones in the blaze, and the 
cobbles were soon glowing with the heat. Oc- 
casionally one would crack, and the pieces flew 
all about. 

“Ever get hit?” asked Larry, of the cook. 

“Once or twice, but I’m getting so I can dodge 
’em now.” 

Just then came another crack, and the cook 
ducked quickly, as a large piece of stone flew over 
his head. He laughed, and Larry joined him. 
When the stones were hot enough the men raked 
away the charred wood and embers, and then 
piled the stones up in a round heap. They were 
so hot that the men had to use long-handled rakes 
and pitchforks. 

On top of the cobbles was thrown a quantity 
of wet seaweed, which sent up a cloud of vapor. 
Then the cook and his helpers began piling on 
top of the steaming weed bushels of clams, scores 
of lobsters, whole chickens, crabs, potatoes, corn 


■32 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


on the cob, and other things. Then the whole 
mass was covered with more seaweed, and over 
all a big canvas was spread. 

“There, now, it will cook in about an hour,” 
said the cook, who seemed to have removed con- 
siderable anxiety from his mind. 

“Don’t you build more fire on it ?” asked Larry, 
who had never been at a clam-bake. 

“Not a bit. The hot stones do all the cooking 
now,” responded the cook. 

And so it proved, for in about an hour the 
canvas was taken off, the weed removed, and 
there the whole mass of victuals was cooked to 
a turn. The men gathered around the table, 
places were found for the reporters, and the feast 
began. Larry ate so many clams, and so much 
lobster and chicken, that he feared he would not 
be able to hold a pencil to take notes, providing 
anyone was left alive to write about. Everyone 
seemed to be trying to outdo his neighbor in the 
amount of food consumed. 

But it was a healthful way in which to dine, 
and no ill effects seemed to follow the clam-bake. 
An hour’s rest in the shade followed, and then it 
was announced that the games would be started. 

A sack race was the first on the programme, 
and the contestants, of whom there were eight, 
allowed themselves to be tied up in bags, which 
reached to their necks. At the word they started 
to waddle toward the goal. 

There was one very fat man and one thin one 


ON A CHOWDER PARTY 


33 


who seemed to be doing better than any of the 
others. They both took little steps inside the 
bags, and were distancing their competitors. 

“Go it, Fatty !” called the stout man’s friends. 

“You’ll win, Skinny!” shouted the advocates 
of the tall, thin one. 

The latter began to forge ahead, and, it seemed, 
would win the race. 

“Lie down and roll!” shouted someone to the 
fat man. 

“Dot’s a good ideaness!” answered the fleshy 
contestant, who spoke with a strong German ac- 
cent. 

He fell upon his knees, and then toppled over 
on his side on the green grass over which the 
course was laid. There was a general laugh, 
most persons thinking the man had fallen, and 
was out of the race. But not so with the fleshy 
one. He began rolling over and over, his ro- 
tundity and the soft sod preventing him from 
being hurt. He kept his head away from the 
ground, and, so rapidly did he revolve that, in- 
side of two minutes he had passed the thin man. 
The latter in his efforts to come in first took too 
long steps, his feet got tangled up inside the sack,, 
and he went sprawling on his face. 

“I vins!” exclaimed the German, as he rolled 
over for the last time, and bumped into the goal 
post. 

“You didn’t win fair!” cried the thin man, try- 
ing to talk with his mouth filled with grass. 


34 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


“Shure I dit!” the fleshy one exclaimed. 
“Vat’s der rules?” 

‘‘That’s right, he wins under the rules,” an- 
nounced the man in charge of the games. “Con- 
testants could walk, run, or roll. Fatty wins and 
gets the prize.” 

“Vot iss dot prize?” asked the German, while 
some of his friends took him out of the bag. 

“This beautiful medal,” replied the man in 
charge, and he handed the winner a large one 
made of leather, on which was burned a picture 
of a donkey. There was a burst of laughter, in 
which the butt of the joke had to join. 

After this came a potato race, in which each 
contestant had to carry the tubers one at a time, 
in a spoon, and the one who brought the most to 
the goal received five dollars. Following there 
was a wheelbarrow contest, in which the smallest 
members of the club were obliged to wheel the 
largest and fattest ones. It was hard on the thin 
men, but the others appeared to enjoy it. 

A swimming race to see who could catch a 
greased duck caused lots of fun. The men put 
on bathing suits, and scores of them went into 
the water. 

“Don’t some of you reporters want to join the 
sport?” asked one of the entertainment commit- 
tee. Some of the newspaper men did, and said 
so. Larry resolved to enter, for he was a good 
swimmer. Soon he had borrowed a suit, and was 
splashing around with the others. All was in 


ON A CHOWDER PARTY 


35 


readiness for the contest. The duck was released 
at the far side of a small cove, the swimmers 
starting from the opposite shore. 

Such shouting, laughing, splashing, and sport 
as there was ! Half the men had no intention of 
catching the duck, but, instead, took the oppor- 
tunity of ducking some of their companions un- 
der water. Larry had no idea of catching the 
fowl, since he saw several men try, and lose their 
grip because of the oil on the duck’s feathers. 

“Five dollars to whoever catches the bird!” 
shouted a man on shore, watching the struggle. 
At this there was a general rush for the unfortu- 
nate fowl. She was caught once or twice, but 
managed to slip away, leaving a few feathers 
behind. 

“I’m going to catch her,” said Larry to him- 
self. He waited a good opportunity when the 
duck was in a comparatively free space in the 
water. Then Larry began swimming slowly 
toward her. The duck did not see him approach- 
ing, and was paddling about. When about ten 
feet away Larry dived, and began swimming un- 
der water. He rose right under the duck, grabbed 
the fowl by the legs, and held her fast, swimming 
toward shore with his free arm. 

A cheer greeted him as he waded out with the 
prize. 

“There’s your money!” exclaimed the man 
who offered it, handing Larry a five-dollar gold 
piece. 


CHAPTER V 


MAN OVERBOARD! 

Several other reporters gathered about Larry, 
who stood blushing at the attention he was at- 
tracting. He hardly knew whether to accept the 
money or not. One of his fellow newspaper work- 
ers saw his confusion. 

“Take it,” he whispered. “It’s all in the game, 
and you won it fairly. I’ll keep it for you until 
you get dressed.” 

Larry accepted the offer, and gave the money 
to his friend, who put it in his pocket until the 
lad had his clothes on once more. 

There were a number of other games and 
sports after this, and then the members of the 
club, thoroughly tired out with the day’s fun, 
went aboard the boat for the trip home. There 
was not much excitement on the way back, and 
Larry was beginning to fear he might have 
missed the story. 

He thought perhaps there had been politics 
talked which he had not overheard, and he was 
worried lest Mr. Emberg would think he had not 
properly covered the assignment. 

Larry ventured to hint at this to some of the 
other reporters, but they all told him that, con- 
36 


MAN OVERBOARD! 


37 


trary to all expectations, there had been no poli- 
tics worth mentioning discussed on the outing. 

“Just make a general story of it,” advised the 
reporter who had held the money for Larry. 
“None of us are looking for a beat.” 

So Larry made his mind easier. A little later 
the boat made a stop at a dock to let off several 
members who had decided to go the rest of the 
way home by train. The newspaper men, with 
the exception of Larry, decided, also, to go home 
on the railroad. 

“Better come along,” they said to Larry. 
“You’ll get no more story.” 

“Probably not,” rejoined Larry, “but I’ll stay 
just the same. The boss told me to keep on the 
job until it was over, and it isn’t over until the 
boat ties up at the last dock.” 

“You’ll soon get over that nonsense,” said the 
reporter, with a laugh, as he left the craft. The 
boat resumed her way up the river, and Larry, 
who was quite tired out, was beginning to think 
he was to have his trouble for his pains in ex- 
plicitly following instructions. There seemed no 
more chance for news, since most of the men 
were resting comfortably in chairs, or lounging 
half-asleep in the cabins. Even the band was too 
tired to play. ^ 

It was getting dusk, and Larry was wondering 
what time he would get home. He walked about 
the upper deck, and gazed off across the water. 

Suddenly there sounded a commotion on the 


38 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

deck below him. Then came a splash in the 
water. 

“Man overboard ! Man overboard !” sung out 
several deckhands. “Lower a boat!” 

At once the steamer was the scene of confu- 
sion. Men were running to and fro, a hurried 
jangle of bells came from the engine room, and 
the craft slackened speed. 

“Turn on the searchlight !” cried someone, and 
soon the beams from the big glaring beacon were 
gleaming on the dark waters aft the boat. 

“There he is, I see his head!” cried someone 
at the stern, casting a life buoy toward the fig- 
ure of the man who had toppled over the rail. 

“Who is it?” 

“Who threw him in?” 

“How did it happen?” 

“Is he dead?” 

These were a few of the confused cries that 
came from all parts of the steamer. But while 
most of the excursionists were greatly excited, the 
members of the crew of the craft remained calm. 
They quickly lowered a boat, and, by the aid of 
the glare from the searchlight, were able to pick 
out the swimming figure of the man. They 
headed the boat toward him, and in a little while 
hauled him into the small skiff. Then they rowed 
back to the steamer, the rail of which was 
crowded with anxious friends of the unlucky 
one. 

“Did you save him?” they cried, for they could 


MAN OVERBOARD! 


39 


not see whether their friend was in the boat or 
not. 

“Sure!” cried several of the crew, and one 
added: “He’s all the better for a little salt wa- 
ter!” 

“This will make a good part of the story,” 
thought Larry, as he watched the craft drawing 
nearer. “I guess the other fellows will wish they 
had stayed aboard.” 

When the skiff reached the steamer, and the 
crew, and rescued one, had been taken aboard, 
there were scores of demands to know how it all 
happened. 

“I’ll tell you,” said the victim of the accident. 
“I was sleeping on two camp-stools close to the 
rail. I got to dreaming I was making a political 
speech, and I was walking up and down the plat- 
form telling the audience what a fine party the 
Democratic one is. 

“I must have walked a little too far, for, the 
first thing I knew, I had stepped over the edge 
of the platform, and the next thing I knew I was 
falling. I woke up in the river, and struck out. 
That’s about all.” 

“Lucky for you the searchlight was working,” 
remarked one of the man’s friends, “or you 
might have been on the bottom of the river by 
now.” 

“Well, you see,” said the man, with a smile, 
as he wiped the water from his eyes. “I ate so 
many clams, lobsters, and crabs to-day that when 


40 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


I got down there the river thought I was a sort 
of a fish, and so it didn’t drown me.” 

Larry made inquiry, and found out the man’s 
name. He made notes of the occurrence, and, 
the next morning, on reaching the office, wrote 
up a lively story of the happening. 

He said nothing to Mr. Emberg about being 
the only reporter on the boat when the thing hap- 
pened. But that afternoon, when all the other 
papers came out, and, like the morning issues, 
had no account of the rescue of the man, who 
was a prominent politician, the city editor said : 

“I hope you weren’t ‘faking’ that story, 
Larry?” and Mr. Emberg looked serious, for he 
did not want any of the reporters to “fake,” or 
write untrue accounts of matters. 

“No, sir, it actually happened,” said Larry, 
and he related how he came to be the only news- 
paper reporter at the scene. A little later Mr. 
Newton came in. 

“Say,” he asked, “did we have a story of a 
man falling overboard on that Democratic out- 
ing? I just heard of it on the street as I was 
coming in.” 

He had not been in that morning, being out 
of town on a story. 

“Oh, Larry was on hand as usual,” replied the 
city editor, for by this time he was convinced 
that Larry’s account was true. “He has given us 
another beat.” 

And so it proved, for the Leader was the only 


MAN OVERBOARD! 


41 


paper in New York that had an account of the 
incident, and nearly all of the later editions of 
the afternoon sheets had to use the story, copy- 
ing it from the Leader. 

“It was a good beat, and a good story of the 
outing besides,” said Mr. Emberg, shortly after 
the last edition had gone to press, for he liked 
the half-humorous manner in which Larry had 
written about the sack race and the other sports 
in which the members of the club had indulged. 
“You are doing fine work,” he added, at which 
praise Larry felt much gratified. 

Things were slacking up a bit in the office, now 
that the paper had gone to press for the day, 
when one of the reporters who was looking over 
the front page suddenly cried out : 

“Here’s a bad mistake in that account of the 
meeting of the County Republican Committee 
last night. It says Jones voted for Smith for 
chairman, and that’s wrong. I was there. The 
compositor must have made a mistake. It ought 
to be corrected, or it will make trouble.” 

“I’m afraid it’s too late,” remarked Mr. Em- 
berg, as he grabbed a paper to see the error. 
“The presses are running, and part of the last 
edition is off. The only way we can do is to 
have them smash Jones’s name, and blur it so no 
one can tell what it is. That’s what I’ll do.” 

He tore part of the page off, marked out the 
name to be smashed, and called to Larry, there 
being no copy boys in the room then : 


42 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“Here, Larry, go down in the pressroom, and 
tell Dunn, the foreman, to smash that name.” 

Though Larry had been on the paper some 
time he had never been in the pressroom. Nor 
dfd he know what the operation of smashing a 
name might mean, but Ke decided the best thing 
to do would be to carry the message. 

He hurried down to the basement. As soon 
as he opened the door leading to it, down a steep 
flight of steps, Larry thought he had gotten into 
a boiler factory by mistake. The noise was 
deafening, and the presses were thundering away 
like some giant machine grinding tons of rocks 
to atoms. 

Half-naked men were running about here and 
there. In one corner was a furnace full of melted 
lead for making the stereotype plates. Larry 
made his way through the maze of wheels, ma- 
chinery, and presses. 

He was met by a youth whose face was cov- 
ered with ink. 

“Where’s Mr. Dunn?” asked Larry, shouting 
at the top of his voice. 

The youth did not bother to answer in words. 
He had been in the pressroom long enough to 
know the uselessness of trying to make himself 
heard above the din. He had understood Larry’s 
question from watching his lips, and pointed over 
in one corner. 

There Larry found a quiet man marking some- 
thing in a book. 


MAN OVERBOARD! 


43 


“Mr. Emberg says to smash that name !” yelled 
the boy, handing over the paper. He was afraid 
he had not made himself heard, but Mr. Dunn 
seemed to comprehend, for he nodded several 
times, though he did not seem pleased. He hated 
to stop the presses, once they were running, until 
all the edition was off. 

However, it had to be done. He left his cor- 
ner, and went around the rear of the ponderous 
machine, where the paper, in a large roll, was 
fed in at one end, to emerge, folded and printed 
sheets, at the other. Mr. Dunn seized a rope, and 
yanked it. A bell rang, and the press began to 
slacken up. 

The type from which the paper was printed 
was cast in one solid sheet, there being several 
of the sheets, just the size of a page. Each one 
was half-circular, and fitted around a cylinder on 
the press. This cylinder whirled around, and 
the paper, passing under it in a continuous roll, 
received the impressions. 

Once the press was stopped Mr. Dunn crawled 
mp into a sort of hole in front of the cylinder, 
Then he had the press worked slowly, until 
the particular page he had to reach came into 
view. 

Next, with a hammer and chisel he smashed 
the name of Jones so that it was a meaningless 
blur. After that the press started its thundering 
again. The remainder of the papers would not 
contain the name of Jones, and so there would 


44 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


be no danger of that gentleman coming in and 
demanding an apology for a misstatement made 
about him. Often papers have to resort to this 
emergency when it is too late to correct directly 
in type an error that has been made. 


CHAPTER VI 


LARRY IN DANGER 

When Larry was eating supper that night he 
happened to glance out of the window. He saw 
an unusual light in the sky, and first took it for a 
glow from some gas furnace or smelting works 
across on the Jersey shore. But, as he watched, 
the light grew more brilliant, and there was a 
cloud of smoke and a shower of sparks. 

“That’s a big fire!” he exclaimed, jumping up. 

“You’re not going to it, are you, Larry?” 
asked his mother. 

“I think I’d better,” he replied. “Most of 
the men are working to-night, and none of them 
may go to the blaze. If we want a good story 
we must be right on the spot. So I think I’ll 
go, though I may find Mr. Newton or someone 
else covering it.” 

“Well, be careful, and don’t go too near,” cau- 
tioned Mrs. Dexter, who was quite nervous. 

“I’ll look out for myself,” said Larry, with all 
the assurance lads usually have. 

“Take me to the fire, I’ll help you report it,” 
begged Jimmy. 

“Not to-night,” answered Larry. “It’s proba- 
bly a good way off, and you’d get tired.” 

45 


46 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“Then you can carry me,” spoke the little fel- 
low, ready to cry at not being allowed to go. 

“You stay here, and I’ll tell you a story,” 
promised Lucy, who had grown to be a strong, 
healthy girl since the surgical operation. “I’ll 
tell you about Jack the Giant Killer.” 

“Will you truly?” cried Jimmy. “Then I don’t 
care about the old fire.” 

He climbed up into his sister’s lap, and soon 
was deeply interested in the story. Larry got 
on his hat and coat, and started out on the run. 
He found a big crowd in the street, hurrying 
toward the fire. 

“They say it’s a gas tank,” said someone. 

“I heard it was an armory,” remarked another. 

“It’s neither; it’s a big hotel, and about a hun- 
dred people are burned to death,” put in a third. 

“Whatever it is, it’s surely a big fire,” was a 
fourth man’s response as he started to run. 

Larry wanted to get to the fire in a hurry, so 
he asked the first policeman he met where the 
blaze was. Learning that it was well up town, 
though the glare in the sky made it seem nearer, 
Larry decided to get on an elevated train to save 
a long walk. 

As he neared the scene he could see the sky 
growing brighter, and the cloud of smoke in- 
creasing in volume. The trail of sparks across 
the heavens became larger. Down in the street 
an ever-increasing throng was hastening toward 
the conflagration. 


LARRY IN DANGER 


47 


Larry dashed from the train as it slacked up 
at the station nearest the fire. He ran down the 
stairs, and through the streets. As he came into 
view of the blaze he saw it was a big drygoods 
store, which was a mass of fire. It evidently had 
secured a good start, as every window was belch- 
ing tongues of yellow flame. 

Larry found a crowd of policemen lined up 
some distance away from the conflagration, keep- 
ing people back of the fire lines. Fortunately Larry 
had a newspaper badge with him, and the sight 
of this, with a statement that he was from the 
Leader, soon gained him admittance within the 
cordon. 

He could not but think of the first time he had 
been at a fire in New York, how he had helped 
Mr. Newton, and, incidentally, got his place on 
the paper. 

But there was no time for idle speculation. 
The fire was making rapid headway, and, in re- 
sponse to a third and fourth alarm that the chief 
had sent in, several more engines were thunder- 
ing up, and taking their places near water hy- 
drants, their whistles screeching shrilly, and the 
horses prancing and dancing on the stones from 
which their iron-shod hoofs struck sparks in pro- 
fusion. 

Larry made a quick circle of the building, 
which occupied an entire block, but failed to see 
any reporters from the Leader. He knew it was 
only chance that would bring them to the place, 


48 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


since most of them had assignments in different 
parts of the city. 

“I guess I’ll have to cover this all alone,” 
thought Larry. “And it’s going to be a big job.” 

In fact, it was one of the worst and largest 
fires New York ever had. It was no small task 
for several reporters to cover it, and for a young 
and inexperienced one to undertake it was almost 
out of the question. But Larry decided that he 
would do his best. 

He went at it in a business-like way, noting 
the size and general shape of the building, and 
how the fire was spreading. Then he found how 
many engines were on hand, and from a group of 
policemen, who had nothing in particular to do 
except keep the throng back, Larry learned that 
the fire had been discovered in the basement about 
half an hour before. One of the bluecoats told 
how two janitors in the place had been obliged to 
slide down a rope, as they were caught by the 
flames on a side of the building where there were 
no fire escapes. 

Larry got the names of the men from a po- 
liceman whose beat took in the store, and who 
knew them. Then he heard of several other in- 
teresting details, which he jotted down. All the 
while he was hoping some other Leader men 
would happen along to aid him, and relieve him 
of some responsibility. But none came. 

The store was now a raging furnace. The 
whole scene was one of magnificent if terrible 


LARRY IN DANGER 


49 


splendor. High in the air shot a shower of 
sparks, and every now and then a wall would 
fall in with a crash that sounded loud above the 
puffing of the engines, the shrill tootings of the 
whistles, and the hoarse cries of the firemen. 

With a rattle louder than any of the apparatus 
that had preceded it, the water tower dashed up. 
It had been sent for when the chief saw that 
with the ordinary machines he would be unable 
to cope with the raging flames. 

Under the power of compressed air the tower 
rose high, a long, thin tube of steel. Hose lines 
from several steamers were quickly attached, and 
the engines began pumping. 

Out of the end of the tube shot a powerful 
stream of water that fairly tore out part of a side 
wall it was directed against, and spurted in on the 
forked tongues that were leaping up from the 
seething caldron of fire. A cheer went up from 
the big crowd that gathered as they saw the water 
tower come into play. 

“That’ll soon settle the fire!” cried one man, 
on the sidewalk, near where the young reporter 
was standing. 

“It will take more than one tower to put out 
this blaze,” rejoined a companion. “I believe it’s 
spreading.” 

Others seemed to think so, too, for there were 
a number of quick orders from the chief, and his 
assistants ran to execute them. Two more water 
towers were soon on the scene, and then the fire 


50 LARRY DEXTER. , REPORTER 

seemed to be in a fair way of being put under 
control. 

Larry was busy going from one side to the 
other of the big block which the burning depart- 
ment store occupied. He saw several incidents 
that he made notes of, knowing they would add 
interest to the story he hoped to write. 

On the north side of the structure there loomed 
a big blank wall, that as yet had not succumbed 
to the flames. A number of firemen were stand- 
ing near the base of it, endeavoring to break a 
hole through so they might get a stream of water 
on the flames from that side, since to get a lad- 
der to the top of the wall was impossible, as the 
flames were raging at the upper edge. 

Larry paused to watch them. Fierce blows 
were struck at the masonry with sledges and axes. 
Pieces of bricks and mortar flew all about. The 
men had made a small hole, which they were 
rapidly enlarging when a hoarse voice cried : 

“Back ! back, men ! For your lives ! The wall 
is coming down !” 

The fire-fighters needed no second warning. 
They dropped their implements, and sprang back. 
Then with a crash that sounded like an explo- 
sion, the entire wall toppled over into the street. 

Several of the firemen were caught under the 
debris, and pinned down. Their cries for help 
brought scores of their comrades up on the run, 
and Larry pressed forward to see all there was, in 
order to put it into the story. 


LARRY IN DANGER 


51 


“Look out!” called a policeman guarding the 
fire lines. “More danger overhead!” 

Almost as he spoke, a big piece of masonry- 
toppled down, and landed in the street not two 
feet from where Larry was standing, peering for- 
ward to see how the firemen fared. If it had 
struck him he would have been killed. 

“Easy there, men!” called an assistant chief. 
“Go slow!” 

“We don’t care for the dinger! We’re going 
to get the boys out!” cried several of the unfor- 
tunate men’s comrades. 

“All right, go ahead, I guess most of the wall’s 
down now,” spoke the assistant chief. “Here, 
you, young man!” he called to Larry. “What 
you doing here? Don’t you know you nearly 
got killed then?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Larry, trying to speak 
calmly. “But I’m a reporter, and I have to stay 
here.” 

“Oh, you’re a reporter, eh?” asked the fireman, 
as he started in to help his men. “Well, I sup- 
pose you think you’re like a cat, and have nine 
lives, but you’d better be careful ! Now get back 
a bit, while we see if any of these poor fellows 
are alive.” 

Larry got some distance away, though not so 
far but that he could see what was going on. The 
crowd on this side had increased in size as the 
word went around that several firemen were bur- 
ied in the ruins. 


52 


LARRY DEXTER. , REPORTER 


The rescuers worked madly, tearing at the hot 
bricks with picks and shovels. With crowbars 
they pried apart big masses of masonry. The 
lurid flames lighted up the scene with dancing 
tongues of fire, and the cries of the wounded 
mingled with the crackle of the blaze, the toots 
of the engines, and the hoarse yells of the men. 

With loudly clanging bells several ambulances 
now drew up opposite where the imprisoned men 
were. They had been telephoned for as soon as 
it was known that an accident had occurred. Af- 
ter several minutes’ work one of the firemen was 
taken out. The white-suited doctor hurried to 
his side, and bent over the man. He listened to 
his heart. 

“It’s too late,” said the physician. “He’s 
dead.” 

Something like a groan went up from the un- 
fortunate fellow’s comrades. It was quickly suc- 
ceeded by a cheer, however, as another man was 
brought out. This one was very much alive. 

“Be jabbers, b’ys!” he exclaimed, in jolly Irish 
accents, “it was a hot place ye took me from, 
more power t’ ye !” and, wiggling out of the hold 
of his rescuers, the fireman began dancing a jig 
in the light of the flames. 

In quick succession half a dozen more were 
taken out. There were no more dead bodies, but 
several of the men were badly hurt, and were 
hurried off to the hospitals. Larry got their 
names from other firemen, and jotted them down. 


CHAPTER VII 


LARRY HAS AN OFFER 

The young reporter had almost forgotten 
about his narrow escape, so anxious was he to 
get a good account of the fire, when he was sur- 
prised to hear a voice at his side saying : 

“Are you trying to get all the good stories 
that happen?” 

Larry looked up, and saw Mr. Newton. 

“Golly, but I’m glad to see you!” said Larry. 

“What’s this I hear about you nearly getting 
caught under a wall?” asked Mr. Newton. “A 
policeman told me.” 

“It wasn’t anything,” replied Larry. “I was 
trying to get close to where the accident hap- 
pened.” 

“There’s such a thing as getting too close,” 
remarked Mr. Newton, grimly. “Get the news, 
and don’t be afraid, but don’t go poking your 
head into the lion’s mouth. You can take it 
easier now. I’m going to help you.” 

“Did you know I was here?” asked Larry. 

“No. Mr. Emberg heard of the fire, and tele- 
phoned me I had better cover it.” 

“It’s ’most over now,” observed Larry 

“So I see,” remarked Mr. Newton, as he noted 
53 


54 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


that the flames were dying out under the damp- 
ening influence of tons of water poured on them. 
“You’ve seen the best part of it. I suppose it 
will make a good story?” 

“Fine,” replied Larry. “I only hope I can 
write it up in good shape.” 

“I guess you can, all right,” responded Mr. 
Newton. “I’ll help you. Perhaps you had bet- 
ter go home now, as your mother might be wor- 
ried about you.” 

Larry agreed that this was a good plan, and 
made his way through the crowd to a car, which 
he boarded for his home, arriving somewhat after 
midnight. 

His mother was sitting up waiting for him, 
and was somewhat alarmed at his absence, as ru- 
mors of the big fire had spread downtown, and 
it was said that a number had been killed. 

“I’m so glad you were not hurt, Larry,” said 
she. “I hope you were in no danger.” 

“Not very much,” replied Larry, for he did 
not think it well to tell his mother how nearly 
he had been hurt. 

When Mr. Emberg learned the next day that 
Larry had, without being particularly assigned to 
it, covered the big fire, the city editor was much 
pleased. He praised the lad highly, and said he 
appreciated what Larry had done. 

The young reporter had his hands full that 
day writing an account of the fire. Mr. Newton 
gave him some help, but the story, in the main, 


LARRY HAS AN OFFER 55 

was Larry’s, with some corrections the copy 
readers made. 

“It’s a story to be proud of,” said Mr. Emberg, 
when the last edition had gone to press. “You 
are doing well, Larry.” 

One afternoon, several days later, when Larry 
had been sent to the City Hall to get some in- 
formation about a report the municipal treasurer 
was about to submit, the boy was standing in the 
corridor, having telephoned the story in. He saw 
a short, dark-complexioned man, with a heavy 
black mustache walking up and down the marble- 
paved hall. Several times the stranger stopped, 
and peered at Larry. 

“I hope he will recognize me when he sees me 
again,” thought the lad. 

“Hello, Larry,” called a reporter on another 
paper, as he came from the tax office, where he 
had been in search of a possible story. “Any- 
thing good?” 

“No,” replied Larry. “I was down on that 
yarn about the treasurer’s report. You got that, 
I guess.” 

“Oh, yes, we got that. Nothing else, eh?” 

“Not that I know of. I’m just holding down 
the job until Mr. Newton gets back. He went 
out to get a bite to eat, and they didn’t like to 
leave the Hall uncovered.” 

“Well, I guess you can hold it down all right,” 
replied the other. “That was a good story of the 
fire that you wrote.” 


56 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“Thanks/’ answered Larry, as his friend went 
away. 

All this time the dark-complexioned stranger 
was walking up and down the corridor. Finally 
he came up to Larry, and asked : 

“Is your name Larry Dexter?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied the reporter. 

“You’re on the Leader , aren’t you?” 

“That’s the paper. Why, have you got a 
story ?” 

“No,” answered the man, with a short laugh. 
“I don’t deal in stories, but I see you’re wide 
awake, always on the lookout for ’em, eh?” 

“Have to be.” 

“How would you like to get into some other 
line of business?” asked the man, coming closer, 
and dropping his voice to a whisper. 

Larry thought the proceeding rather a strange 
one, but imagined the man might not intend any- 
thing more than a friendly interest. 

“It depends on what sort of business,” replied 
the youth. 

“Do you like reporting very much?” the 
stranger went on. 

“I do, so far.” 

“Isn’t it rather hard work and poor pay?” 

“Well, it’s hard work sometimes, and then 
again it isn’t. As for the pay, I guess I get all 
I’m worth.” 

“I’m in a position to get you a better job,” 
the man continued. “I’m in a big real estate 


LARRY HAS AN OFFER 


57 


firm, the Universal we call it, and we need a 
bright boy. I have some friends in the City Hall 
here, some of the aldermen, and they said you 
would be a good lad for the place.” 

“I don’t know how the aldermen ever heard 
of me,” remarked Larry. 

“Well, I guess you’ve been around the Hall a 
good bit,” the man went on. “You were at the 
insurance hearing, weren’t you ?” 

“I carried copy for one of the reporters,” said 
Larry. 

“Well, anyhow,” resumed the stranger, “do 
you think you’d like to work in a real estate of- 
fice? There’s plenty of chances to make money, 
besides what we would pay you as a salary. We 
could give you twenty dollars a week to start. 
How would that strike you?” 

Larry was puzzled how to answer. The pay 
was five dollars a week more than he was get- 
ting, and if the man told the truth about the 
chance to make extra money, it might mean a 
good deal to the lad and his mother. 

“I’ll think about it,” said the young reporter. 
“I’ll have to talk with my mother about it.” 

“I’ve seen your mother, and she says it’s all 
right,” the man said, quickly. “If you want to 
you can come with me now, and I’ll start you 
in at once. You’d better come. The offer is a 
good one, and I can’t hold it open long.” 

Now Larry, though rather young, was inclined 
to be cautious. It seemed strange that a man. 


68 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


whom, as far as the reporter knew, he had never 
seen before, should take such a sudden interest 
in him, and should even go to see Mrs. Dexter to 
ask if Larry could take another position. Then, 
too, the stranger seemed altogether too eager to 
get Larry to leave his position on the Leader. 
The man saw Larry’s hesitancy. 

‘Til make it twenty-five dollars a week,” he 
said. “Better come.” 

“I can’t decide right away,” the boy returned. 
“I must see my mother.” 

“Do you doubt my word?” asked the stranger 
somewhat angrily. 

“No,” said Larry. “But even if my mother 
gave her permission I could not leave the Leader 
without giving some notice to Mr. Emberg. It 
would not be right.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” sneered the man. 
“They would never bother about giving you no- 
tice if they wanted you to leave. They’d fire 
you in a second, if it suited them. Why should 
you give any notice ?” 

The man appeared so eager, and seemed to 
place so much importance on Larry’s taking the 
offer, that the boy became more suspicious than 
ever, that all was not as it should be. 

“I will think it over,” said he. “If you will 
leave me your card I’ll write to you.” 

“If you don’t take the offer at once I can’t 
hold it open,” said the man, in rather unpleasant 
tones. “However, here’s my card. If you come 


LARRY HAS AN OFFER 


59 


to your senses, and decide to work for my com- 
pany, why, I’ll see what I can do for you. Though 
I can’t promise anything after to-day. You’ll 
have to take your chance with others.” 

“I’ll be willing to do that if I decide to 
come.” 

“Hello, Larry!” exclaimed a voice, and Mr. 
Newton came around the corner of the corridor. 
“You here yet?” 

“I was waiting for you to come back,” replied 
Larry. “Mr. Emberg told me to stay, and see 
that nothing broke loose while you were at 
lunch.” 

“Anything doing?” 

“Not a thing.” Larry turned to see if the 
stranger was at his side, but, to his surprise, the 
man had vanished. 

“What did he want?” asked Mr. Newton, with 
a nod of his head toward where the man had been 
standing. 

“Why, he wanted me to leave the Leader, and 
take a position with some real estate firm,” an- 
swered Larry. 

“Don’t you have anything to do with Sam 
Perkins,” said Mr. Newton. 

“Is that his name?” inquired Larry. Then 
he looked at the card the man had given him, and 
read on it: “Samuel Perkins, representing the 
Universal Real Estate Co. Main Office, 1144 
Broadway, New York. Loans and Commis- 
sions.” 


60 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


“That’s who he is,” replied Mr. Newton. 
“What was his game this time?” 

“That’s just what I was trying to puzzle out,” 
was Larry’s answer, as he related what the man 
had said. 

Mr. Newton listened carefully. He nodded 
his head several times. 

“That’s it, I’ll bet a cookie. When you go 
home ask your mother just what Perkins said, 
and let me know.” 

“Why, do you think there is something wrong 
in his offer?” 

“I can’t tell. I have my suspicions, but I’ll 
not speak of them until I know more. Tell me 
what your mother says. In the meanwhile, if 
Perkins comes to you again, which I don’t think 
he will, since he has seen me speaking to you, 
just put him off until you can communicate with 
me.” 

“Do you know him?” 

“Know him? I guess yes!” replied Mr. New- 
ton. “He was mixed up in more than one boodle 
and land scandal with the aldermen, but we never 
could get enough evidence to convict him. Maybe 
we can this time, if he’s up to any of his tricks. 
Don’t forget to ask your mother all about his 
visit.” 

“I’ll remember,” replied Larry. Then, as the 
City Hall was about to close for the day, they 
went back to the office. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE AGENT’S PROPOSITION 

That night Larry questioned his mother 
closely about the visit Mr. Perkins said he had 
paid her. 

“I didn’t know his name,” said Mrs. Dexter, 
in telling her story. “He came to the door, and 
asked if you were my son. Then he said a re- 
porter’s life was a hard one, and asked me if I 
didn’t think you had better get a position some- 
where else. I thought he was a friend of yours, 
and when he said he could give you a good job 
in the real estate office I thought it would be a 
good thing, and said so.” 

“Is that all, mother?” 

“Well, pretty nearly. He did ask a few ques- 
tions about your father.” 

“What did he want to know?” 

“Well, he wanted to know where we came 
from, where we used to live, and whether your 
father ever owned any land here in New York.” 

“What did you tell him?” 

“I said I didn’t know much about it, but that 
I thought your father had some papers, a deed 
or something, to some property in the Bronx.” 

“What did he say to that ?” 

61 


62 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


“He didn’t say much, only he appeared to be 
interested. He wanted to see the deed, but I 
couldn’t find it. I remember we had it one night, 
and I told him I thought we burned it up. 
Didn’t we destroy it, Larry?” 

“We were going to, but, don’t you remember, 
I said it might be a good thing to save?” said 
Larry. “I have it put away.” 

“I wish I had known it,” went on Mrs. Dex- 
ter. “I would have shown it to the man. He 
seemed very much interested in you, Larry.” 

“Altogether too much,” went on Larry. 
“Mother, don’t trust that man. Mr. Newton 
knows him, and says he is almost as bad a crimi- 
nal as though he had been convicted.” 

“Why, I’m sure he seemed real polite,” said 
Mrs. Dexter. “He was very nicely spoken.” 

“Those are the worst kind,” said Larry. 
“Don’t ever show him any of father’s old papers, 
particularly the deed to the land in the Bronx.” 

“Why not, Larry? Is there any chance of 
that land ever becoming valuable? I remember 
your poor father saying it would never be any 
good. He was always sure he would never get 
any money out of it, as it is in the middle of a 
swamp. Do you think it will make us rich, 
Larry ?” 

“Hardly that, mother. In fact, it may never 
amount to anything. I doubt if we have even a 
good claim to it, as I don’t believe the taxes have 
been paid for a number of years.” 


THE AGENTS PROPOSITION 


63 


“Then what good is it to keep the deed ? Don’t 
land go to the city if you don’t pay taxes?” 

“Sometimes. In fact, I guess it always does. 
But there is some mystery about this, mother. 
I don’t know what it is, but I am going to find 
out.” 

“Oh, I hope there is nothing wrong about us 
having the deed, Larry. I’m sure if your poor 
father knew there was anything wrong about it, 
he would never have taken the land.” 

“There is not likely to be anything wrong, as 
far as we are concerned,” said Larry. “But, 
from two or three things that have happened 
lately, I am sure there is a mystery connected 
with that land. In some way we are involved, 
because we hold the deed. I am going to tell 
Mr. Newton all about it, and perhaps he can help 
us straighten it out.” 

“Wouldn’t it be fine if the land turned out 
to be a gold mine,” put in Jimmy, who was listen- 
ing with wide-opened eyes to what his mother 
and brother were talking of, and only dimly com- 
prehending it. 

“An’ diamonds and ice cream mines,” put in 
Mary, who was staying up past her bedtime. 

“It would be fine,” said Larry. “But I think 
it is more likely to be a sandbank. In fact, I 
think the sandman has been around here lately, 
and has been throwing some of his dust in some- 
one’s eyes,” and he caught Mary up in his arms, 
and kissed her. 


64 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“There’s no sand in my eyes,” said Jimmy, 
rubbing them violently, to prove the contrary. 

“My, it’s getting late; it’s after nine o’clock!” 
exclaimed Mrs. Dexter. “Time you children 
were in bed.” 

“I’ll undress Mary,” said Lucy, laying aside 
her sewing. 

“I’m going to undress myself,” put in Jimmy, 
who was growing to be quite a lad. 

Soon the two children were in the land of nod, 
and Lucy returned to the sitting-room, where 
her mother and brother were still talking. 

“Do you really think this man had some hid- 
den motive?” asked Lucy of her brother. 

“I’m sure of it; or else why should he be so 
persistent? He evidently wanted to get posses- 
sion of the deed.” 

“Why do you think he offered you such a good 
position?” went on Lucy. 

“He probably wanted to get me into his office, 
and then have me give him the deed, under pre- 
tense of examining it. Once he had it I guess 
we would never see it again.” 

“Well, it’s a strange affair,” said Mrs. Dexter, 
with a sigh. “I hope it will be explained soon.” 

“It will, sooner or later,” spoke Larry, with 
a confidence he hardly felt. 

When Larry met Mr. Newton the next day, 
and told the older reporter about the conversa- 
tion Perkins had had with Mrs. Dexter, Mr. 
Newton said: 


THE AGENTS PROPOSITION 


65 


“Things are working out the way I expected. 
Now, Larry, my boy, we must say nothing, and 
saw wood, as they say in France. If this thing 
pans out it will be one of the biggest deals ever 
undertaken. There may be something in it for 
your family, and there certainly will be a big 
story in it for the Leader . 

“But we must keep very quiet. If it leaks out 
that we suspect something, or that we are on the 
track of the men I believe to be behind the mat- 
ter, we will lose everything. So, first of all, 
guard that deed carefully. Next, tell your mother 
to hold no conversation with men who may call 
at the house to inquire about your father’s af- 
fairs. Lastly, do no talking yourself on this sub- 
ject. I will work hard to stop the game I suspect 
they are trying to play, but I feel I need your 
help.” 

“Do you think it involves the land my father 
owns, or at least the land for which we have a 
deed?” 

“I am almost certain of it. If it is what I be- 
lieve, there is much money in it.” 

“For whom ?” asked the lad. “I hope some of 
it will come my way.” 

“Well, part of it may,” rejoined Mr. New- 
ton. “But the men back of it intend the main 
share for themselves and the boodle aldermen 
and land sharps associated with them. So be on 
your guard, Larry. We can’t have you kid- 
napped again,” and Mr. Newton smiled at the 


66 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


recollection of the fate that once befell Larry in 
the early stages of his work for the Leader , in 
connection with the cab strike. 

‘Til watch out/’ replied the young reporter. 

Larry had plenty to do that day, and, having 
an afternoon assignment to cover — a meeting of 
one of the city boards — he did not reach home 
until rather later than usual. As he entered the 
apartment he heard his mother conversing with 
someone in the parlor, and the voice of the visi- 
tor was a strange one. 

“My dear madam,” the man was saying, “I 
assure you everything is open and above board. 
We are making you an exceptionally good offer 
for very poor land. In fact, if I had my way, the 
purchase would not be made.” 

“Then why talk of it?” asked Mrs. Dexter. 
“I am not anxious to sell. In fact, I know very 
little about the land.” 

\ “A client of mine has taken a fancy to the 
place,” went on the man, while Larry listened, 
wondering who it could be. “He has authorized 
me to offer you two thousand dollars for the 
Bronx property. That is four times what it is 
worth, but I want to please my friend. Will 
you accept my offer?” 

“No, she will not!” exclaimed Larry, enter- 
ing the room at that moment. “Who are you, to 
come here making offers for land?” 

“I don’t know that it concerns you,” replied 
the stranger, in no gentle tones. “What right 


THE AGENTS PROPOSITION 


67 


have you to interfere when I am talking to this 
lady?” He evidently took Larry for a stranger. 

“This is my son,” said Mrs. Dexter, for she 
did not like the man’s manner. 

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the stranger, 
who seemed at a loss what to say. “I did not 
know him. You are Larry, are you?” 

“That’s my name. What is your business with 
my mother?” 

The man appeared ill at ease. He twisted 
about on the chair, and said: 

“Did you decide to take that offer a friend of 
mine in the real estate business made? I called 
to see if you had, and I was talking to your 
mother about it. Incidentally I mentioned that 
I could sell some property I hear she owns up in 
the Bronx. It is a small matter, hardly worth 
my while to bother with.” 

“Then I’d advise you not to bother with it,” 
spoke Larry, shortly. “We can look after our 
own affairs, I guess.” 

The man’s face flushed, and he seemed very 
angry. Then Larry remembered Mr. Newton’s 
advice to be careful of what he did or said in 
connection with the land. 

“Of course it’s very good of you to think of 
my mother and myself,” said Larry, a little more 
politely. “But we have not decided what to do 
about that land, and I have made up my mind 
to stay on the Leader, so you may tell your 
friend I cannot accept his offer.” 


68 LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 

“You had better think twice before you re- 
fuse my offer for the land/’ the man went on. 
“As I said, it is of no value, particularly, but a 
friend of mine wants it. I might even offer you 
twenty-five hundred dollars for it, but that is as 
high as I can go. Will you take it?” 

“I think not,” replied Larry, motioning to his 
mother to make no answer. 

The reply seemed to make the man more an- 
gry than ever, and Larry could see him clench 
his fist, and grit his teeth. 

“Would you mind letting me see the deed?” 
the stranger asked. “It is possible I have made 
a mistake, and that the land I am after is not 
that which you own. A glance at the deed will 
set me right.” 

“Lm sorry, but we can’t let you see the deed,” 
spoke Larry. “I have been told to take good 
care of it, and not to let strangers have it.” 

“But I only want to glance at it,” said the man. 

“I can’t let you see it,” said the lad. 

“You’ll be sorry for this,” the man exclaimed. 
“In less than a month you’ll be glad to take five 
dollars for the place, that is, provided you own 
it, v/hich I very much doubt. You’ll lose the land, 
and then you’ll wish you had taken my offer.” 

“I can’t help that,” said Larry, firmly. “We 
will not show you the deed, nor sell you the land 
at present.” 

“Then you can take the consequences,” 
snapped the man, as he went out. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE BIG SAFE-ROBBERY 

“Oh, Larry,” said Mrs. Dexter, wHen the 
sound of the stranger’s footsteps had died out 
down the hallway, ‘‘maybe we should have taken 
his offer. Twenty-five hundred dollars is a lot of 
money, and we are quite poor.” 

“I know it, mother,” spoke the lad. “But I 
think there is something back of all this, or why 
should those men be making so many efforts to 
get possession of this land?” 

“Maybe they want it for a special purpose, 
Larry.” 

“I suppose they do, but they are not offering 
what it is worth.” 

“Why, you know your father used to say it was 
worth very little,” said Mrs. Dexter. 

“I know he did, mother, but the land may have 
increased in value since he had it. It must have, 
or those men would not come to us and make 
an offer. If land is poor and of no worth you 
have to go all around hunting for a customer, 
but when it is of some value customers come to 
you. That’s what makes me think this land will 
prove valuable. The men would not want it if 
it was only ordinary swamp.” 

69 


70 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“I hope you are right,” said Mrs. Dexter, with 
a sigh, for it was hard to think of losing a chance 
to get what, to her, was a large sum of money. 
“We may hold the property a good while, provid- 
ing it is not sold for taxes, and not get anywhere 
near that price for it, after all.” 

“Of course there is a certain risk,” admitted 
Larry, “but I think it is worth taking. Mr. 
Newton thinks so, and has advised me to hold on 
to the deed. We must put it away carefully.” 

“It is in that tin box where I have all your 
father’s old papers,” said Mrs. Dexter. 

“I think I’ll keep the box under my bed,” 
spoke Larry. “I don’t suppose a burglar would 
take it if he saw it, but there’s no use running 
any chances. So I’ll hide the box.” 

When he went to bed that night he carried 
the box with him, first looking to be sure the 
deed was in it. Then he placed the receptacle 
under his bed, away back, and close to the wall. 

“If anyone wants to get that they’ll have to 
climb under the bed,” said Larry. “And if they 
do, I’m pretty sure to wake up. Then — let’s see, 
I wonder what I would do then ?” 

He paused to look about him, in search of a 
weapon, half smiling as he did so, since he had 
not the faintest idea that a burglar would enter 
their humble apartments. 

“That club will be just the thing,” thought 
Larry, as he saw a heavy stick standing in the 
corner. It had been used as a clothes prop, for 


THE BIG SAFE-ROBBERY 


71 


the lines that were strung on the flat roof of the 
tenement, and Jimmy, playing Indian, had 
brought it into the house that day. “This is 
better than a revolver,” thought Larry, placing 
it at the head of his bed. 

Then he fell asleep, to dream of nothing more 
exciting than going fishing in the creek in his 
old home at Campton. He dreamed he was pull- 
ing a big fellow out, and that his pole broke, 
tumbling him backward upon the grass. He 
gave a great jump, which awakened him, and he 
saw the sun shining brightly in through his 
window. 

“My! I must be late!” he exclaimed, jump- 
ing up. “I’ll have to hustle.” 

He made a hurried breakfast, and arrived at 
the office a few minutes after eight o’clock, to 
find the place somewhat excited. A number of 
reporters were standing about, with copies of 
morning papers, but they seemed to be more in- 
terested in something else than in the journals. 

“What’s up?” asked Larry, of some pf the 
younger reporters. 

“Big safe-robbery in Brown’s jewelry store,” 
was the answer. 

“Did they get anything?” 

“We haven’t heard any particulars yet,” re- 
plied Mr. Newton. “I just got the tip from po- 
lice headquarters. But they think a good many 
thousand dollars’ worth of gold and diamond 
jewelry is missing. The safe is a wreck.” 


72 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


Just then Mr. Emberg came in, and Mr. New- 
ton quickly told the city editor of the robbery. 

“Jump out on it,” said Mr. Emberg. “Take — 
let’s see — take Jones with you, and Larry also. 
We want a good story. I’ll send a photographer 
down to take a picture of the safe.” 

Larry was well pleased to be assigned to help 
two of the best reporters on the paper. Some of 
the other men seemed a little envious of Larry, 
but, as is usual in good newspaper offices, nothing 
was said, and the men went out on their assign- 
ments, as given by the city editor, without a mur- 
mur, though some details were disagreeable 
enough. 

Larry, with the two other reporters, lost no 
time in boarding a car for the scene of the rob- 
bery. They found a big crowd outside the jew- 
elry store, which was located in a part of the city 
where persons of society and wealth did much 
of their shopping. A number of policemen, as 
well as detectives in plain clothes, were on guard 
in front of the establishment. 

“Come, now, you’ll have to move on,” one of 
the bluecoats cried. “Can’t block the sidewalk. 
Move on. There’s nothing to see.” 

“Maybe we can find a stray diamond or two,” 
suggested someone in the crowd, whereat there 
was a laugh. 

“If you find any diamonds,” rejoined the offi- 
cer, “hand ’em over to me, and I’ll get the re- 
ward.” 


THE BIG SAFE-ROBBERY 


73 


The three reporters made their way through 
the crowd to the front door of the store. 

“Ye can’t come in here at all, at all !” exclaimed 
a big Irish policeman, blockading their path. 

“We’re reporters from the Leader ,” said Mr. 
Newton. 

“Can’t help it if ye are editors from the Tail- 
Enderl” the bluecoat went on, with a smile at 
his own wit. “Orders are I’m t’ let not a sowl 
in at all, at all !” 

“That’s all right, Pat,” said a sergeant of po- 
ke, coming up at that juncture, and seeing how 
matters were. “These are not ordinary persons, 
you know,” with a smile at Mr. Newton and the 
others. “They’re reporters.” 

“Well, if ye says it’s all right, it’s all right,” 
the policeman said to his superior. “Ye kin go 
in,” he added grandly to the newspaper men, as 
he stepped aside. 

It took but a glance to show what had hap- 
pened. Burglars had blown the massive door of 
the safe open, by using some powerful explo- 
sive. Then with tools they had pried open the 
inner doors, and had taken whatever suited their 
fancy. Larry wondered that the explosion had 
not wrecked the store, in the center of which the 
safe stood. He spoke of this to Mr. Newton. 

“Those fellows used just enough explosive to 
crack the door, but not enough to do any damage 
outside,” said the older reporter. 

Mr. Newton, who was in general charge of 


74 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


getting the story, soon made his plans. A few 
questions he put to one of the members of the 
firm who was on hand, showed him how the af- 
fair had occurred. The burglars had entered by 
forcing a rear window. They had placed a screen 
up in front of the safe, so that when the police- 
man on the beat looked in through the front door, 
as he frequently did during his rounds, he could 
not see the thieves at work. 

“Have you a night watchman ?” asked Mr. 
Newton of the firm member, Robert Jamison. 

“Yes, and that’s the queer part of it. He 
claims he was chloroformed by the thieves early 
in the evening, or at least by one of them. We 
sent him home, as he is quite ill from the effects 
of the drug.” 

“That’s a good part of the story,” said Mr. 
Newton. “Jones, you go down to the watch- 
man’s house, and get all the particulars you can. 
Larry will stay here, and help me.” 

When Jones had gone Mr. Newton made a 
close survey of the premises. He made a rough 
sort of diagram of how the thieves must have 
entered, and how they probably escaped. Then 
he told Larry to get a list of the diamonds and 
jewelry that had been stolen. Mr. Newton in 
the meantime had several talks with the police 
officers about the matter. 

By this time quite a number of reporters from 
other papers had arrived, and, with the bluecoats 
and detectives, the store was pretty well filled. 


THE BIG SAFE-ROBBERY 


75 


Mr. Jamison, with the assistance of one of his 
partners, made up a list of the stolen things, and 
then had his typewriter make several copies, 
which were distributed among the reporters, 
Larry getting one. 

Larry could not help but think this was a 
rather up-to-date method of reporting, where the 
man who was robbed went to so much trouble 
for the reporters. 

“He’s glad to do it,” said Mr. Newton. “You 
see, the thieves will try to pawn their booty, and 
by publishing a list of it, pawnbrokers will be on 
the lookout. It’s as much to his interest as it is 
to ours.” 

After getting all the facts possible, Mr. New- 
ton and Larry waited until Jones came back from 
the watchman’s house. 

“Did you see him?” asked Mr. Newton, when 
Jones returned. 

“Yes, and I got a good story.” 

“Well, keep quiet about it. Maybe none of the 
others will think of sending down, and we’ll beat 
’em.” 

It appeared from the story the watchman told 
Jones, that, early in the evening, a well-dressed 
man had approached the guardian, whose name 
was Henderson, and started a conversation with 
him. 

They talked for some time, and finally the 
stranger gave Henderson a cigar. The watch- 
man said he preferred a pipe, and asked the 


76 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


stranger to wait until it could be brought from a 
rear room where the watchman kept it. 

“Henderson went back to get it,” said Jones, 
in telling the story, “and the stranger followed 
him. The watchman was about to object, saying 
no one was allowed in the place after dark. But 
the stranger was so pleasant that the watchman 
was not suspicious. He followed Henderson into 
a sort of office in the rear, and there, while Hen- 
derson was getting his pipe, the stranger sud- 
denly attacked him. 

“He held a cloth with chloroform on, to his 
nose, and, though the watchman struggled and 
tried to cry out an alarm, the robber was too much 
for him. Henderson was soon left unconscious, 
and he thinks he must have been drugged, for 
he did not recover his senses for several hours. 
That’s all he knows. When he came to, the safe 
was blown open, and it was nearly morning.” 

“That slick stranger, after drugging Hender- 
son, probably stayed in the store,” said Mr. New- 
ton, “and when the time came he admitted his 
confederates. After that it was an easy job for 
the professionals.” 

“Well, I guess we’ve got everything,” contin- 
ued Mr. Newton, as he prepared to go. “It will 
make a good story.” 

The three Leader reporters had been standing 
near the rear window whence the robbers gained 
an entrance after their companion had, from 
within, forced the bars outward. 


THE BIG SAFE-ROBBERY 


77 


“What’s this?” asked Larry, stooping over, 
and picking up a small piece of paper. It had 
some peculiar blue marks on it. 

“Looks as though someone had stuck their fin- 
gers in a bottle of ink, and then placed them on 
this paper,” said Jones. 

“Let me see it,” asked Mr. Newton. 

Larry handed it over. Mr. Newton took a 
long look. Then he smelled the paper. 

“Whew !” he whistled softly. “This may give 
us an important clew to the burglars !” 


CHAPTER X 


WORKING UP THE CLEW 

Mr. Newton placed the paper in his pocket. 
Then, as there seemed to be no further news of 
the robbery to get at the jewelry store, the three 
reporters hurried back to the Leader office. 

There, after Larry and Jones had written out 
their parts of the story, they turned them over 
to Mr. Newton, who was to arrange the whole 
article in proper shape. Larry, soon after this, 
was sent out on another assignment, and did not 
get a chance to see Mr. Newton until late that 
afternoon. 

“What are you going to do to-night, Larry?” 
asked his friend, as they were about to leave for 
home. 

“Nothing special, Mr. Newton. I don’t do 
any studying during the summer nights, though 
I guess I need it.” 

“No, all work and no play makes Jack a dull 
boy,” responded Mr. Newton, with a smile. 
“Study is a good thing, but you need recreation 
also. Do you want to make a call with me ?” 

“I guess so. Where is it?” 

“To a chemist’s.” 

“What’s up?” asked Larry. 

78 


WORKING UP THE CLEW 


79 


“Well, don’t say anything about it,” went on 
Mr. Newton, in a low tone, “but we may be able 
to work up a clew in that burglary story.” 

“You mean that safe robbery we were up to 
this morning?” 

“That’s the one. I think the paper you found 
may prove of value. But I want to be sure of 
my ground before I go any further. So if you 
will come to the chemist’s with me to-night we’ll 
see what may develop.” 

Larry didn’t see how a scrap of paper with a 
few blue finger-marks on it was going to be much 
of a clew to discover safe-blowers by, but he said 
nothing. 

It was arranged that he was to call at Mr. 
Newton’s house after supper. He found the older 
reporter waiting for him, and they took a car. 

“Of course, I needn’t tell you to keep quiet 
about this,” said Mr. Newton. “I haven’t said 
anything, even to Mr. Emberg, about it, for fear 
I might be mistaken, and get laughed at for my 
pains.” 

“I’ll not say anything,” promised Larry. 

In a short while they found themselves at the 
office of the chemist. The place was shut up, but 
Mr. Newton seemed to know where the scientist 
lived, for he rang a bell a few houses off, and, 
when a girl answered the door, asked : 

“Is Mr. Hosfer in?” 

“He is, but he’s very busy.” 

“Just tell him Mr. Newton wants to see him,” 


80 LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 

said Larry, and the girl, with an air as much as 
to say that her errand would be fruitless, hur- 
ried off, leaving the two reporters standing on 
the steps. 

“Not very polite,” said Mr. Newton, as they 
waited. 

The girl was soon back. 

“Mr. Hosfer will see you,” she said, with a 
very different air. “You must excuse me, but 
you see there are so many thieves about.” 

“I assure you we’re not thieves,” said Mr. 
Newton. “The umbrellas and hats in the hall 
were perfectly safe.” 

The girl laughed, and Mr. Newton joined in. 
In the midst of the merriment Mr. Hosfer, who 
was an old gentleman wearing iron-bowed spec- 
tacles that seemed lost under his shaggy eye- 
brows, shuffled into the room. 

“Ah, it is my old friend of the newspaper,” 
he exclaimed. “What terrible scandal have you 
been writing up now? What horrible murder, 
what soul-racking suicide, what terrible mystery, 
what awful, terrible, horrible, monstrous, impos- 
sible tale have you been concocting, my dear 
friend?” And he laughed as though it was 
the most delightful thing in the world to have 
sensations of the most pronounced kind served 
up for breakfast, dinner, and supper. 

“Nothing at all, Mr. Hosfer,” replied Mr. 
Newton. “We have nothing only the most or- 
dinary news to-day.” 


WORKING UP THE CLEW 


81 


“Tut! tut! Nonsense! I know better/’ was 
the reply. “I know you would not be satisfied 
with that. You will take a story of a little child 
getting lost, and make a fearful, blood-curdling 
mystery of it.” 

For it was Mr. Hosfer’s opinion that all re- 
porters were of the sensational class, who loved 
to dress simple facts up in word-garments of red 
and green ink. He could not seem to get over 
the notion, and perhaps it was because he seldom 
read a paper, being too busy with his many ex- 
periments. 

“Well, what can I do for you?” a§ked the 
chemist, rubbing his hands. “Have you a sam- 
ple of blood for me to analyze, or a dead body 
you want me to boil up in a test-tube? Trot it 
out,” and he smiled. 

“I don’t know whether you will be able to help 
us or not,” said Mr. Newton, who had known 
the chemist for a long time, and who had fre- 
quently come to him for information concerning 
stories where chemistry played a part. 

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee to solve 
impossibilities. I can’t tell what you had for 
breakfast by looking at your hat, as some report- 
ers think a detective can. Besides, I’m not a de- 
tective.” 

“This is strictly in your line,” said Mr. New- 
ton, pulling the piece of paper with blue marks 
on it from his pocket, and holding it out to the 
chemist. “What is that ?” 


82 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


The chemist looked at it without touching it. 
He bent over closer, and applied his nose to it. 

“It will not bite you,” said Mr. Newton. 

“I know it will not,” was the answer. “But 
I want to get every impression I can from it be- 
fore I take it into my hands. After I have handled 
it I cannot detect the odor as plainly, providing 
there is an odor, as there happens to be in this 
case. Now, what do you want me to do?” and 
he took the blue-marked paper from Mr. New- 
ton’s fingers. 

“What made those marks ?” asked the reporter. 

“There you go!” exclaimed Mr. Hosfer. 
“You think I’m a regular Sherlock Holmes. I 
can’t tell what made ’em at a moment’s glance. 
I doubt if even Sherlock Holmes could. I might 
make a guess, and hit it, or I might not. Proba- 
bly not. I could say they were ink, or from a 
typewriter ribbon, or from bluing that was used 
at the weekly wash, or from water colors, or 
from oil colors, or — or some chemical. I’m in- 
clined to think they’re some chemical, but, of 
course, it’s only a guess. You see, I only have 
one chance among a good many certainties of 
guessing. I must make an analysis.” 

“That’s exactly what we want you to do,” said 
Mr. Newton. “Can you do it now?” 

“Oh, I s’pose I can,” was the answer. “I can 
neglect all my other work to do something that 
will turn out to be a terrible murder, a mysteri- 
ous shooting, a horrible suicide, a forgery, a 



“we are coming on, we shall be there presently.” 

Larry Dexter, Reporter 








WORKING UP THE CLEW 


83 


child-stealing, an attempt at arson, or something 
worse. I can do it, I s’pose, to please you, 
but ” 

“You will do it,” said Mr. Newton, with a 
laugh. “I know you’re as anxious to know what 
made those blue spots as I am. You’re going to 
find out, too.” 

“Yes, I am,” said Mr. Hosfer, suddenly. “I 
wouldn’t do it for anyone else, but you’ve done 
me a number of favors, Mr. Newton, and I’d 
like to oblige you. Come into the laboratory.” 

Followed by Larry, Mr. Newton accompanied 
Mr. Hosfer. The laboratory was in the rear 
of the house. It was a place well filled with all 
sorts of queer apparatus. There were rows of 
bottles containing oddly-colored liquids and sol- 
ids, big flasks, small furnaces, pipes, odd ma- 
chines, scales, an electrical apparatus, test tubes, 
alembics, retorts, crucibles, and all that goes to 
make up a chemist’s workshop. 

“Now after I start to work,” said Mr. Hosfer, 
“I don’t want either of you to ask me a question. 
It bothers me, and I can’t think. When I get 
through you may talk all you please.” 

Without more ado he started in. He tore off a 
small piece of the paper, and put it to soak in a 
tube which contained some liquid. Another 
piece he placed in another tube. One piece he 
burned, and saved the ashes from it on a tiny 
dish. Still another piece he covered with some 
white substance. All the while he kept muttering 


84 


LARRY DEXTER. , REPORTER 


to himself, like some old philosopher in search of 
the secret of transmuting base metals into gold. 

After a little while he took up the tube in 
which he had placed the piece of blue paper. He 
poured into it a few drops of some liquid, and the 
stuff in the tube changed color. 

“Ah, I thought so,” muttered Mr. Hosfer. 

He rapidly made a number of other experi- 
ments, going through similar performances. He 
tested the ashes of the paper he had burned, and 
even applied a small portion of them to his 
tongue, making a wry face as he did so. 

“We are coming on,” he murmured, nodding 
his head at Mr. Newton and Larry. “We shall 
be there presently.” 

Mindful of the injunction neither of the re- 
porters spoke. They watched Mr. Hosfer with 
interest. 

Finally the experiments were over. The chem- 
ist holding a test tube, in which was some violet- 
colored liquid, came toward them. 

“Are you ready to hear what I have to say?” 

“Say on,” spoke Mr. Newton, in half tragic 
tones. 

“Whatever else that paper may have had on it, 
and I have not gone far enough to say all the 
things that were on it, that paper contained nitric 
acid in some form.” 

“Are you sure of that?” asked Mr. Newton. 

“Positively,” replied Mr. Hosfer. 

Larry felt greatly disappointed. He had ex- 


WORKING UP THE CLEW 


85 


pected something that would point a clew to the 
burglars, and to learn that the paper had only 
been marked by an acid, was somewhat of a 
shock. 

‘‘Could nitric acid, such as is used in the ex- 
plosive nitro-glycerine, produce that color?” was 
Mr. Newton’s next question. 

“Of course it could,” said Mr. Hosfer. “I 
knew you were coming to some terrible explo- 
sion, some awful blowing up of innocent persons, 
some catastrophe, some horrible cataclysm, some 
terrific disturbance of the laws of nature !” 

“Not quite as bad as that,” said Mr. Newton. 
“But tell me this: If nitric acid made those 
marks, and nitro-glycerine could do it, would a 
person handling the explosive be likely to mark a 
paper in that fashion?” 

— ilMost decidedly so,” said Mr. Hosfer. “I can 
refer you to ” 

“Never mind!” interrupted Mr. Newton. 
“That is all I want to know.” 

“What are you going to do now?” asked the 
chemist. 

“I am going to look for the man who made 
those marks on the paper,” replied the reporter. 

“How can you find him?” asked Larry, in sur- 
prise. 

“By looking for a man with a blue hand,” was 
Mr. Newton’s answer. 


CHAPTER XI 


A SEARCH FOR THE BLUE HAND 

“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Hosfer, 
as he watched Mr. Newton place what was left 
of the blue paper in his pocket. 

“I mean that X have a clew to the persons who 
blew open the safe,” said Mr. Newton. “As soon 
as I saw that paper which Larry found, with the 
blue marks on it, I thought it might have been 
used by the burglars. I was at a loss to know 
what could have caused the marks, but you, Mr. 
Hosfer, have solved that problem for me. I 
think I can manage the rest.” 

“But can’t the blue marks wash off?” asked 
Larry. “What good is the clew then ?” 

“No! The blue marks will not come off!” ex- 
claimed Mr. Newton. “Will they, Mr. Hosfer?” 

“Not for some time,” replied the chemist. “I 
see now what Mr. Newton is driving at. He is 
going to solve a horrible, a dastardly, soul- 
curdling, bloody mystery. The blue marks will 
not come off. It is a peculiar feature of certain 
forms of nitric acid, and also of nitro-glycerine, 
which is made from the acid, that they will stain 
the skin a bluish color. This color will not come 
off until the skin wears off, and, as that takes 
86 


A SEARCH FOR THE BLUE HAND 


87 


some time, you may be sure that your blue- 
handed man will have to go around for a number 
of weeks with the marks on his fingers and 
thumb. I see what Mr. Newton is up to now. 
Oh, but you’re a sly dog!” 

“It’s mostly a matter of luck,” replied the re- 
porter. “You have been of great service to us, 
Mr. Hosfer.” ' 

“To think I should be mixed up in a terrible, 
fearful, awful, shocking, sensational affair like 
this,” spoke the chemist, with a smile, as though 
it was the best fun in the world. “That comes 
of having a reporter for a friend.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Newton, “you ought to be 
glad of a chance to aid the ends of justice by dis- 
covering the safe-robber.” 

“All I ask is to be let alone with my experi- 
ments,” said Mr. Hosfer. “At the same time, if 
Justice thinks I’m entitled to anything, I might 
say I have my living to earn, and it’s none too 
easy a task.” 

“I’ll speak to Justice about it,” said Mr. New- 
ton, with a laugh. 

Mr. Newton and Larry now took their leave. 
They had found out what they wanted to know, 
or at least Mr. Newton had, for Larry had no 
suspicion of the object of the visit to the chem- 
ist’s. 

“What are you going to do next?” asked the 
lad of Mr. Newton. 

“I’m going to begin a search for the blue- 


88 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


handed man,” was the answer. “I want you to 
help me. This will be aside from our regular 
work on the Leader , though if we are successful, 
it will mean that we’ll get a good story for 
the paper. We may have to work nights, and at 
other times when we’re not busy in the office or 
on assignments. Do you want to go in for it?” 

“Of course I do,” replied Larry. 

“There’s no reward offered, as far as I know,’” 
went on Mr. Newton. “The firm is insured in 
a burglary concern, I understand, so they are not 
worrying about the loss. But it would be a fine 
thing if you and I could trace the thieves by 
reason of this piece of blue-marked paper.” 

“It certainly would,” rejoined Larry. “I’ll do 
my best.” 

The next day Mr. Newton had a talk with Mr. 
Emberg on the matter. He explained about the 
blue-marked paper, and told how Larry had 
found it, and how it might form a clew to the 
identity of the burglars. 

Mr. Newton told how he and Larry had 
formed a plan of hunting for the blue-handed 
man, and secured permission to leave the office 
early afternoons, with Larry, on the trail of the 
safe-blowers. 

For several days, however, there was so much 
to do around the office or out on assignments, 
that neither Larry nor Mr. Newton had a chance 
to work on their quest. They did not forget it, 
however. One afternoon Larry found a note on 


A SEARCH FOR THE BLUE HAND 89 

his desk asking him to call at Mr. Newton’s 
house that night, as the older reporter had to go 
out on a late story. 

When Larry reached his friend’s house, he 
found that Mr. Newton had just come in. 

“You almost beat me, Larry,” said Mr. New- 
ton, pleasantly. “But I’ll be ready for you in a 
few minutes, as soon as I have a bite to eat. I’m 
rather hungry.” 

“Is it about the blue-handed man?” asked 
Larry. 

“That’s what it’s about,” was the reply. “That 
is, not exactly him, but we’re going to get on 
his trail, and, perhaps, we can land some of his 
confederates.” 

A little later Mr. Newton explained his plan. 
It was that he and Larry would take every chance 
they had of going about in the slums of New 
York, for there it was that they might most nat- 
urally expect to find the man they sought. 

“I don’t believe any of the gang of safe-blow- 
ers has left New York,” said Mr. Newton. “I 
have talked with the detectives about the matter, 
and they are sure that the criminals are hiding 
here. The trouble is, New York is such a big 
place it makes an excellent place to hide. The 
detectives have been over every clew, but they 
have succeeded very poorly so far. There’s not 
a trace of the men or the missing valuables.” 

“Wouldn’t it be a joke if we got ’em!” said 
Larry. 


90 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“ Almost too good a joke to be true,” was Mr. 
Newton’s reply. 

The two reporters laid their plans, and put 
them into operation the next day. All the time 
they could spare from their office work they used 
in tramping about the worst parts of New York. 
Mr. Newton “knew the ropes” from having been 
on frequent assignments to localities where hap- 
penings grave and gay had occurred. 

Together they went through the Bowery, into 
Chinatown, with its Joss houses, heavy with the 
smell of incense sticks, into Chinese dwellings 
where the reek of opium lingered, and into dives 
of all sorts. 

All the while they sought but one man, a man 
who had blue hands, or blue marks on his fingers 
and thumbs. They were not interested in faces 
or clothes. All they looked at was hands. 

For two weeks they kept up this tiresome work. 
They had any number of strange experiences. 
Once they came near to being caught in a raid 
the police made on a certain place, where, it was 
said, Chinese gambling was carried on. Again 
they were in places where fierce fights started, 
and where the first thing that happened was that 
the lights went out. But each time they came 
through all right. 

All this while, however, their quest seemed to 
be fruitless. They could not find the man they 
sought. They made guarded inquiries, for they 
did not want it known what their object was, in 


A SEARCH FOR THE BLUE HAND 


91 


frequenting the slums. But they did not meet 
with any success. 

Once, indeed, they thought they were on the 
right track. A woman, of whom they inquired 
if she had ever seen a man with blue marks on his 
hands, replied: 

“Yes, sure. He lif by me!” 

“He lives with you!” exclaimed Larry, think- 
ing, perhaps, he had stumbled upon the wife of 
the man they sought. 

“I means in de same houses,” explained the 
woman, who was German. “His hands is as blue 
like de skies. He iss de man vat you vant. His 
hands is blue as vat nefer vas. He vorks in a 
place where dey makes bluing for clothes. Ah ! 
sure his hands iss blue, but he iss a goot man !” 

“I’m afraid he’s not the man we are after,” 
said Mr. Newton. “The hands of the man we 
want are not blue all over, only part blue; a lit- 
tle blue.” 

“Ah, den, I knows,” said the woman, with a 
smile. 

“What do you mean ?” 

“It iss his liddles boy vat you vants. His 
hands is littler as his fader’s, and dey iss not blue 
all over; only part blue. Ah, yes, I knows!” 

Thanking the woman for her information, 
which, however, was of no value, Mr. Newton 
and Larry gave up their quest in that direction. 

“We’ll have to start on a fresh trail in the 
morning,” said Mr. Newton, when he and Larry 


92 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


were eating a modest lunch in a cheap restaurant 
about twelve o’clock that night. 

“It doesn’t seem as if we were going to suc- 
ceed,” spoke Larry. “We’ve been at it a good 
while, and haven’t accomplished anything.” 

“Don’t give up so easily,” counseled Mr. New- 
ton. “I’ve been on the trail of stories for several 
months before I landed ’em. This business isn’t 
done in a day.” 

The restaurant was almost deserted. At a 
table in the rear three men sat eating. Larry and 
Mr. Newton had paid no attention to them. As 
the men got up to go out they went close by the 
table where the two reporters sat. As they went 
by one of them said : 

“I suppose Noddy will be helping us again 
soon.” 

To this one of the other men made this rather 
strange reply : 

“Not until he can take his gloves off. You 
know, he’s all blue from that last affair !” 

“Hush !” cautioned the third man, with a 
glance at the table where the two reporters were 
sitting, but who could not be seen very clearly, 
as their chairs were in a shadow. 

“Did you hear what he said?” asked Larry, 
when the men had gone out. * 

“I did,” replied Mr. Newton, with some show 
of eagerness. “It may have referred to our man, 
and again, and more likely, it may not. I wonder 
who those men were?” 


A SEARCH FOR THE BLUE HAND 


93 


“I know who one was,” said Larry. 

“Who?” exclaimed Mr. Newton. 

“I don’t know his name,” spoke the lad, “but 
he’s the same man who called on my mother that 
second time to ask her to sell him the Bronx prop- 
erty.” 

“Are you sure?” asked Mr. Newton, half ris- 
ing from his seat. 

“Very sure.” 

“Then I think we are on the trail,” said Mr. 
Newton. 

“Why?” 

“Because that man is a sort of lawyer who 
stands in with criminals of all kinds. He de- 
fends them when it is necessary, and helps them 
out of trouble. Of course, it may be only a co- 
incidence, but I’m almost certain now, that he 
knows something of the blue-handed man we are 
seeking. Now we begin to see a little ray of 
light. We have been working in the dark up to 
now. I know where to start.” 

“Can we do any more to-night?” asked Larry. 

“I think not. You’d better go home and go 
to bed. In the morning I’ll commence in another 
direction. I have a friend, a detective, who will 
help us.” 

So Larry started home. He would have gone 
much faster than he did, had he known what 
strange news awaited him. 


CHAPTER XII 


LARRY MEETS HIS OLD ENEMY 

When Larry was walking along a street that 
led to the thoroughfare on which he lived, he was 
suddenly brought to a halt in front of a bril- 
liantly-lighted cigar store, by hearing someone 
exclaim : 

“Well, if there isn’t my old friend, Larry Dex- 
ter! How are you, Larry? Still on the Leader f” 

Larry turned, to behold Peter Manton, a for- 
mer copy boy on the newspaper, a lad with whom 
Larry had had numerous fallings out, and once 
quite a fight. He had not seen Peter often since 
the memorable race to get first to the telegraph 
office with news of the big flood. 

“How do you do?” asked Larry, not very cor- 
dially, for he felt that Peter was an enemy. 

“I’m fine,” replied Peter. “What’s your 
hurry? Wait, and I’ll buy you a cigarette.” 

“I don’t smoke cigarettes,” rejoined Larry, not 
caring to announce that, as yet, he did not smoke 
at all. 

“Well, don’t get mad,” said Peter, good-na- 
turedly. “I suppose you have a grudge against 
me?” 


94 


LARRY MEETS HIS OLD ENEMY 95 

“Well,” replied Larry, frankly, “I think you 
acted pretty mean when you smashed my boat.” 

“I guess I did,” admitted Peter. “But you 
must remember I was very anxious to get my 
copy on the wire first.” 

“So was I,” added Larry, “and I beat you,” 
and he could not help smiling at the recollection. 

“And you got me fired by it,” spoke Peter, 
with an injured air. 

“How was that?” asked Larry, for though he 
had seen Peter since the episode, he had not had 
a chance to talk to him. 

• “When the people on the Scorcher found out 
I was responsible for your paper beating them 
they told me to look for another position. I 
didn’t have much trouble finding one, though.” 

“Where are you now?” asked Larry, thinking 
it would be no more than common politeness to 
ask. He was anxious to get home, however, and 
not very much interested in Peter or his proj- 
ects. 

“Oh, I’m with the Universal Real Estate Com- 
pany,” said Peter. “I have a swell job. Mr. 
Perkins is a great friend of mine.” 

Larry started. He recollected that it was the 
same company and the same man who had ap- 
proached him, and who had seemed so anxious 
about the deed to the Bronx property. He de- 
cided he would not be in such a hurry to go home, 
but would make further inquiries from Peter. 
It might lead to something, he thought. 


96 


LARRY DEXTER. , REPORTER 


“1 wonder you don’t give up the newspaper 
business,” went on Peter. “It’s hard work and 
poor pay. Maybe I could get you into our firm,” 
and he spoke as though he was the senior part* 
ner. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Larry, as if he 
was thinking of the matter. “I have very little 
knowledge of real estate.” 

“You don’t have to have,” spoke Peter. “You 
could get along all right. All you have to do is 
to go around and see people, get descriptions of 
property, and keep a few books. It’s heaps easier 
than chasing copy.” 

“I’m not chasing copy any more,” replied 
Larry. “I’m a regular reporter.” 

“That’s worse,” went on Peter. “You never 
know when you’re through working. Now I 
finish by three o’clock every day, and have the 
rest of the time to myself.” 

“Does your firm do much business?” asked 
Larry. 

“You bet. And say, it’s going to do more. If 
you came in with us now I could put you on to 
a good thing. There’s going to be a big raise 
in land values in a certain locality in a little while, 
and our firm’s going to make a lot of money.” 

“Where is the land?” asked Larry, carelessly. 

“Don’t you wish you knew?” sneered Peter. 
“I’m not telling everyone. But, if you like, I’ll 
speak to Mr. Perkins for you.” 

“You might,” said Larry, thinking it would be 


LARRY MEETS HIS OLD ENEMY 


97 


no harm to get as much information as possible. 
“Pd like to make some money.” 

During this time the two youths had been 
standing in front of the cigar store. Larry was 
thinking it was about time for him to move on, 
as he did not want to arouse Peter’s suspicions 
by too many questions, when a short, stout, and 
dark-complexioned man came hurrying around 
the corner. 

“I was afraid you’d gone,” the man said to 
Peter. 

“No, I was talking with a friend of mine,” 
replied the former copy boy on the Leader. “Are 
you through?” 

“Yes,” replied the man. “But I had no suc- 
cess.” 

Larry looked idly at the stranger. He noticed 
he wore gloves, and this, at first glance, struck 
him as peculiar, for the night was warm. Still 
this fact was not so surprising, and Larry’s mind 
was about to pass over the incident when his eye 
happened to catch a glimpse of something blue 
about the man’s hand. 

At first he thought it was the edge of a blue 
cuff. He looked again, more closely, and was 
startled to see that part of the glove was turned 
back at the wrist, and that the flesh which showed 
was deep blue in color. 

Larry was so startled by the sight, so alarmed 
at the unexpected appearance of the blue mark, 
bringing as it did to his mind a recollection of 


98 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


the safe robbery, that he was afraid the man 
might notice his surprise. But Peter’s acquaint- 
ance did not pay any attention to Larry. He 
seemed in a hurry, and anxious to be moving 
on. 

Larry began to wish that there might be some 
excuse for remaining longer in the company of 
Peter and the man. Yet he was afraid that if he 
did so, the stranger might suspect something, and 
hurry away before Larry had a chance to com- 
municate with Mr. Newton. 

In order to be sure of the person when he saw 
him again Larry looked closely at him. He saw 
that he had piercing black eyes, a nervous manner, 
a small, black mustache which he pulled at from 
time to time, and there was a small scar under his 
left eye. 

“I’ll know him if I ever see him again,” 
thought Larry. 

The man seemed ill at ease. Suddenly he dis- 
covered that the edge of his glove was turned 
back. With a quick motion he buttoned the 
article up. 

As he did so he glanced sharply at Larry, as 
if anxious to know whether the lad had noticed 
anything. Larry pretended that his shoelace 
needed tying, and stooped over to avoid meeting 
the fellow’s look. As Larry straightened up he 
heard the stranger call out : 

“Come on, Peter. There’s our car,” and, be- 
fore Larry could have stopped them, had he de- 


LARRY MEETS HIS OLD ENEMY 


99 


sired to, or thought it wise, they were running 
after it. 

“Well, that's finding a man and losing him in 
a hurry,” thought Larry. “I wonder what I’d 
better do?” 

At first he thought of calling on Mr. Newton. 
But as the reporter lived quite a distance away 
Larry decided this would not be wise. Then he 
thought he would call his friend up on the tele- 
phone. But the idea of talking about the blue- 
handed man over the wire, where anyone might 
hear it, did not seem to be exactly right. 

“I'll wait until morning,” thought Larry. “We 
can’t do anything now. Besides we’re on the 
right trail. I know where to find Peter, and 
maybe I can get some information out of him.” 

With this end in view Larry proceeded on his 
way home.. It was getting close to midnight, 
and he was a little worried lest his mother be 
alarmed over his long absence. He found her 
waiting for him. 

“Oh, Larry!” she exclaimed. “You have given 
me such a fright!” 

“Why, mother, what’s the matter?” 

“Oh, I thought perhaps those men had done 
you some harm.” 

“What men?” 

“Why, the ones who are trying to get the deed 
away from us.” 

“Have they been bothering you again?” 

“Yes. One was here a while ago.” 


100 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“Was it anyone that had been here before?” he 
asked. 

“No, this was a different one. He came in 
about nine o’clock when the children were in bed, 
and Lucy and I sitting here. He seemed nice at 
first, and then he began to ask me about the deed. 
He said you had sent him.” 

“Me, mother? I never sent anyone.” 

“Well, that’s what he said. He wanted me to 
sign an agreement to sell the property.” 

“I hope you didn’t sign, mother.” 

“No, I didn’t, Larry, and when I refused the 
man was very angry. He tried to hide his feel- 
ings, but I could see he was mad. Then he 
wanted to look at the deed, but I remembered 
what you had said, and I would not show it to 
him. Pretty soon he went away, but I was very 
much frightened.” 

“What sort of a looking man was he?” 

“Rather short, and dark-complexioned. He 
had a little black mustache which he kept pulling 
at all the time, and there was a scar under his 
left eye.” 

Larry started as he heard these details. He 
began to see who the man was. 

“Did you notice anything else about him, 
mother ?” 

“Nothing special, except that he kept his gloves 
on all the while he was here.” 

“Are you sure of that, mother?” 

“Of course, Larry. I spoke of it to Lucy af~ 


LARRY MEETS HIS OLD ENEMY 101 


terward. I even asked him to take them off, as 
it was rather warm.” 

“What did he say?” 

“He seemed quite excited, and buttoned up one 
that had come open.” 

“Did you notice anything else?” 

“No, I didn’t, but Lucy did. She spoke to 
me about it afterward. She said she caught a 
glimpse of the man’s wrist where the glove was 
turned back, and it seemed to be of a red color.” 

“A red color!” exclaimed Larry. 

“I mean blue,” went on Mrs. Dexter. “She 
said it looked as if the man worked in a bluing 
factory. Perhaps that is why he kept his gloves 
on. He did not want people to see his blue 
hands.” 

“I guess that’s the reason,” said Larry, trying 
to speak calmly. But he was greatly excited. 
The plot, which seemed to involve him and his 
folks in the safe-robbing, seemed to be growing 
more tangled. 


CHAPTER XIII 


IN WHICH THE DEED IS MISSING 

Larry decided it would be better not to tell 
his mother anything concerning the blue-handed 
man, or his connection with the safe-robbery. 
He felt it would only make her worry, and would 
be of no particular good. 

“I’ll solve this thing myself,” thought the 
young reporter. “I guess Mr. Newton and I can 
do it.” 

So, after a few more questions, and added in- 
junctions to his mother never to let the deed go 
out of her possession, Larry went to bed. 

His mother soon sought her room, and pres- 
ently the household was quiet. It was now past 
midnight, and everyone in the tenement seemed 
to be asleep. 

It was rather a quiet neighborhood, and per- 
sons living in it were not in the habit of staying 
up late. The policemen whose beats took in those 
streets seldom paid a visit to them, for they knew 
there would not, in all likelihood, be any disturb- 
ances. 

It grew a little cooler as the night wore on, and 
people who had been kept awake by the previous 
hot spell were making up for their lost sleep. 

102 


IN WHICH THE DEED IS MISSING 103 


If any persons in the tenement, or apartment, 
where Larry and his mother lived, had been 
awake about three o’clock that morning they 
might have wondered at the sight of two figures 
stealthily creeping up through the side alleyway 
that led to the rear cellar door, and the stairs 
leading to the back doors of the various rooms. 
Two dark figures there were, moving along, al- 
most as silently as shadows. 

Now and then they would stop and whisper 
together, but, so quiet were their voices and so 
silent their steps that not a person heard 
them. 

The policeman on the beat came to the head 
of the street, and looked down it. He saw noth- 
ing. How could he see the two figures in the 
alley ? The officer remarked : 

“It’s all quiet there. What’s the use of 
walking down? I’ll just go over to the avenue, 
and have a chat with Hennessy, and smoke a 
cigar before the roundsman comes along.” 

So the policeman passed away. Meanwhile 
the two dark figures crept on. In a little while 
they had reached the cellar door. Cautiously one 
of the men drew from his pocket a small instru- 
ment like a cold chisel or a screwdriver, except 
that it had no wooden handle. One edge was 
broad and sharp, like a wedge. 

The man went close to the cellar door. He put 
the edge of the instrument between the door and 
the jamb, close to the lock. There was a little 


104 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


crackling sound, hardly enough to waken the 
lightest sleeper. 

“Is it all right?” whispered the man who had 
remained on guard outside the cellar door. 

“All right,” was the whisper in return. 

“Then go ahead and start the blaze. Don’t 
make much of a one. Put it near the dumbwaiter 
shaft, so the smoke will go up quickly. Use wet 
paper. It makes more smoke.” 

“Go ahead,” came back, in whispered accents. 
“I’ll do my part, if you do yours. Do you know 
where they keep the papers?” 

“Sure. Under the bed,” was the answer. 
“The old lady gave it away when I was talking 
to her to-night, only she never knew it.” 

Then, while one of the men made his way into 
the cellar, the other began creeping up the rear 
stairs of the apartment house. And, if one had 
looked closely at the man who was creeping up- 
stairs, they would have seen that his hands were 
encased in gloves, though it was summer time and 
quite hot. 

Up and up he went, step by step, trying each 
one, to be sure it did not creak, before he trusted 
his weight on it. Now and then he would stop, 
and peer on all sides of him. Then he would 
listen to catch the faintest sound. But there was 
no noise. Not even the step of the policeman on 
the beat disturbed him. From afar came the hum 
of the big city, the roar of cars and elevated 
trains, the throb of traffic in the metropolis that 


IN WHICH THE DEED IS MISSING 105 


never goes to sleep, but in the neighborhood of 
the tenement house all was quietness. 

All at once the man on the steps began to sniff 
the air, like an animal scenting danger from afar. 

“He’s started the fire! I can smell the kero- 
sene oil!” he said, softly. “Now for the final 
scene !” 

Carefully he walked along until he came to the 
door that led into the kitchen of the Dexter apart- 
ments. From his pocket he drew forth a small 
instrument similar to that which the other man 
had used. He placed the sharp edge between 
the door and the jamb, close to the lock. He 
pried on it. There was a slight crack, and the 
door had been opened with a burglar’s jimmy. 

An instant later there broke out on the night 
air that most dreaded of all alarms in the midst 
of the crowded population of New York’s poor: 

“Fire! Fire! Fire!” 

That was the cry that smote on. the ears of 
those who were suddenly awakened from their 
slumbers. 

“Fire! Fire! Fire!” 

How it echoed down into the yard! How it 
sounded into the sleeping rooms ! How it pene- 
trated down the street, and even farther to where 
the policeman was smoking a cigar before the 
roundsman came! 

“Fire! Fire! Fire!” 

Up through the tenement poured a volume of 
thick smoke. Thick, stifling vapor that rolled 


106 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


up through the dumbwaiter shaft, that penetrated 
to the rooms, and set the frightened tenants to 
coughing. 

What a scramble there was then ! What a hur- 
rying and scurrying to leap from bed, to grasp 
whatever garments came nearest to hand, to wrap 
them about one, and then, if there were children, 
to grab them up, and run for the hall ! 

What a scene of terror succeeded what, but a 
few minutes before, had been a peaceful one! 
Frightened yells and screams mingled with the 
alarm of fire shouted by a loud voice. Children 
began to cry. Women laughed hysterically, and 
men called to one another to know where the 
blaze was, for no flames could be seen. Only 
there was that black and stifling smoke. 

The man who had so stealthily crept up the 
stairs suddenly leaped into the kitchen of the 
Dexter home. 

“Fire! Fire!” he exclaimed. “Hurry up out! 
The house is on fire !” 

Mrs. Dexter screamed. Mary and Jimmy be- 
gan to cry. Lucy slipped on a robe, and ran into 
her mother’s room. Larry leaped from his bed, 
and, pausing only to pull on his trousers, ran to 
where the others had gathered in the hall. 

“Are you all out?” shouted the man, in the 
darkness. “Come on. I’ll carry the little boy. 
You take the little girl, lad. The other girl can 
help the old lady!” 

Then grabbing up Jimmy, the man, whose 


IN WHICH THE DEED IS MISSING 107 

hands were encased in gloves, half led, half 
pushed the little group on before him. Larry, 
dazed from sleep, grabbed up Mary, and, seeing 
that Lucy was leading her mother safely down, 
followed; the man bringing up the rear with 
Jimmy, who was hardly awake. 

“Is the house on fire?” asked Larry. 

“Sure! Can’t you smell the smoke?” asked 
the man. 

“I mean is it bad?” cried Larry. “Because if 
it isn’t I must go back for some of our clothes 
and things.” 

“Don’t stop 

“You’ll be all burned up! Save your lives first!” 

In all the excitement of it Larry could not help 
wondering where he had heard that voice before. 
But there was little time to think of this. 

Down the stairs they ran, being joined by other 
tenants from every floor, all of whom were flee- 
ing in scant attire. The cries of “fire” were be- 
ing called now by scores of voices. 

In about a minute, though it seemed five times 
as long as that, Larry, his mother, and all the 
others had emerged on the street. They found 
themselves in the midst of a motley throng, but 
in the excitement no one seemed to mind the 
strangeness of the attire. 

One man was carrying two pillows, while his 
wife had a bird cage. Another man was trying 
to put his trousers on for a coat, and a third was 
endeavoring to drag a brass bed down the stairs. 


• that now,” the man exclaimed. 


108 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


Then came a shill tooting whistle followed by 
the gallop of horses. 

“The engines are coming!” cried Larry. “Get 
back out of the way, mother. Here, Jimmy, you 
and Mary stay close to me. We’ll go into one 
of these other houses. The fire doesn’t seem to 
be bad. Then I must go back after that box of 
papers.” 

The man with the gloves, who had roused the 
Dexter family, had placed Jimmy down on the 
sidewalk. 

“I’m going back to rescue some more!” he 
cried, as he sped up the smoke-filled hallway. 
He seemed anxious to save human lives even at 
the risk of his own. 

By this time half a score of engines and trucks 
had drawn up in front of the tenement, sum- 
moned by the alarm the policeman had turned 
in. 

The various apparatus had not come to a halt 
before dozens of firemen had leaped to the 
ground, and run into the house. They wasted no 
time. While some sprang up the stairs to rescue 
any persons who had been left behind, others 
sought the source of the blaze. They soon dis- 
covered it to be in the cellar. 

Lighting the way with lanterns they carried 
they dashed down, not minding the choking 
smoke. 

“Run in a chemical line!” shouted a battalion 
chief through a small megaphone he carried. 


IN WHICH THE DEED IS MISSING 109 


“It’s only a pile of rubbish on fire. We don’t 
need any water.” 

Quickly a small hose from the chemical en- 
gine was unreeled. The engineer turned a crank 
at one end of a big cylinder, and a bottle inside 
which contained vitriol was smashed, allowing 
the contents to mingle with a strong solution 
of soda water. This created carbonic-acid gas, 
and forced the mingled liquids out through the 
hose at high pressure. 

On to the blazing pile of rubbish the chemicals 
were turned, and the little blaze, which was more 
of smoke than of fire, was soon out. 

“It’s all over!” cried the battalion chief, five 
minutes later. “You can go back to bed !” 

The people began to laugh hysterically, so sud- 
den was the relief from anxiety. Several could 
not believe but what the house was doomed. The 
firemen, however, assured them there was no 
danger. Through the open windows the smoke 
was soon blown away. The engines started back 
to quarters. 

“Come on, mother,” said Larry. “I guess we 
can go back now.” 

“Golly! Wasn’t that just like a circus!” ex- 
claimed Jimmy. 

Up the stairs the Dexters went. On the way 
they were joined by scores of other tenants, all 
talking at once. 

“I wonder if my papers and that deed are 
safe,” thought Larry. 


110 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


As soon as he got back to his bedroom he 
looked for the box. He crawled under the bed, 
and felt about. 

“That’s queer,” he mused. “I’m sure it was 
here !” 

He made a hurried search of the room. The 
box had disappeared. 

“We’ve been robbed during the fire !” ex- 
claimed Larry. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A STRANGE OFFER 

“Robbed!” cried Mrs. Dexter. “I hope no one 
has taken my gold breastpin and my ring !” 

“I hope they didn’t take my book of fairy sto- 
ries!” came from Jimmy. 

“Do you mean thieves have been in here dur- 
ing the fire?” asked Lucy, as she sat down on a 
chair in the kitchen. 

“That’s what I mean,” replied Larry. “The 
box of papers, in which the deed to the Bronx 
land was kept, is gone.” 

“Perhaps you took it out with you, in your ex- 
citement,” suggested Mrs. Dexter. 

“No,” replied Larry. “I know we have been 
robbed. The more I think of it the more I be- 
lieve the fire was only a make-believe one, started 
to scare us so we would get out and give the thief 
a chance to work.” 

Mrs. Dexter could hardly credit this, but Larry 
insisted he was right. The firemen went through 
the building to make sure there were no lurking 
sparks, and some of them said the blaze had 
amounted to nothing more than a small bit of 
rubbish on fire in the cellar, which confirmed 
Larry’s belief. 


Ill 


112 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


He said nothing more to his mother, however, 
as she was much excited over the fire. Soon 
they returned to bed, though Mary and Jimmy 
were the only ones who slept much afterward, 
as the others were too nervous. 

Larry was much puzzled. That bold and dar- 
ing men were plotting against the welfare of him- 
self and his relatives he had little doubt. He 
was convinced that the blaze was only started for 
the purpose of giving someone an opportunity of 
getting possession of the deed. 

“If they go to such lengths to get it, there must 
be something very valuable about it,” thought 
Larry. 

Long and earnestly he thought over the matter. 
He recalled the man who had rushed into their 
apartments to notify them of the fire, and his sus- 
picions grew that he had heard his voice some- 
where before. 

“I wonder if he could be someone whom I have 
been to see to get a story for the paper,” thought 
Larry. 

He reviewed as well as he could the men he 
had called on since he had been a reporter. None 
of them seemed to fit. 

“I know!” the lad exclaimed to himself, as he 
tossed on his bed in the darkness; “he’s the man 
who came up while I was talking to Peter. He’s 
the man who kept his gloves on when he came 
to see mother. He’s the blue-handed man !” 

Once he had established this fact to his satis- 


A STRANGE OFFER 


113 


faction, Larry’s mind worked quickly. That 
there was some connection between the blue- 
handed man’s operations, the safe-robbery, and 
the theft of the deed, Larry had no doubt. 

“Things are getting into a strange mix-up,” 
thought the young reporter. “As soon as I think 
I am on the track of one part of the mystery it 
gets all tangled up with another part. I would 
like to catch that blue-handed man. Then, I be- 
lieve, I would have one of the safe-robbers, I 
might get the deed back, and learn what is behind 
this land matter. It might make us wealthy. I 
wish it would.” 

Finally, after much thinking over of the prob- 
lems without result, Larry dropped off into a 
doze. When he awoke it was broad daylight, 
and the only thing to remind him of the night’s 
excitement was a heavy odor of smoke in the 
rooms. The whole house smelled as though 
someone had been curing hams in it. 

Larry made a hasty breakfast, for it was get- 
ting late. Before he started for the office he 
made a search of the rooms, hoping against hope 
that he might come across the box of papers. 
But it was nowhere to be seen. He crawled un- 
der the bed, and lighted a match. 

There in the dust, close to the wall, was the 
mark where the box had stood. Close by was a 
small, dark object. 

“I wonder what that is,” thought Larry. 

He reached for it. It was soft. Wonderingly 


114 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


he carried it to the light and examined the article. 
It was a man’s glove. 

“I don’t remember losing any of mine,” he 
thought. 

He looked at the glove more closely. It was 
too large to have ever fitted his hand. He turned 
it inside out. To his surprise the lining was 
streaked with blue, and there was a peculiar odor. 

“This was worn by the blue-handed man!” 
whispered Larry, excitedly. “He has been here! 
There is no doubt now but that he took the box! 
I will save this for evidence in case I ever catch 
him!” 

Larry had a number of assignments that day, 
taking him to various parts of the city. He had 
to attend a brief session of a church society, then 
he had to get an obituary of a well-known busi- 
ness man, next he had to cover a session of a sub- 
committee of the Board of Aldermen, and finally 
he was sent to see a man who offered to jump off 
the Brooklyn Bridge backward, provided some 
other person would jump with him, for a wager. 

So Larry was rather tired out when afternoon 
came, and the Leader had gone to press for the 
last edition. He wanted a chance to tell Mr. 
^Newton what had happened, and ask his advice. 

“Now what would you do?” asked Larry, 
when he had finally told the older reporter about 
the fire. 

“I wouldn’t do anything,” replied Mr. Newton. 
“That is, right away. If you go to the police, 


A STRANGE OFFER 


115 


which is the most natural thing to do, in case of 
a robbery, these men — for I am sure now that 
there is a gang of them — will know it very 
shortly. In some mysterious way the thieves 
learn what the police know almost as soon as the 
authorities find things out themselves. ,, 

“What would you do then?” asked Larry. 

“I’d just keep quiet,” was the answer. “The 
thief, or thieves, are waiting to see what you will 
do. If you can fool them, so much the better. 
They must be desperate, or they would not ven- 
ture to take the deed. To make any use of it they 
must forge signatures, and that is a risky pro- 
ceeding. 

“I am beginning to see what they are up to. 
I heard a rumor the other day of a plan that will 
enormously increase real estate values up in the 
Bronx section. It may be that the gang is be- 
hind this. Now while they have an advantage 
over you in that they have the deed, there is a 
certain element of risk in it for them. Deeds 
are bad things to monkey with.” 

“What do you think they’ll do?” asked Larry. 

“Wait and see,” replied Mr. Newton. “I am 
in the dark, just as much as you are. We can 
only wait. It may be that they took the deed in 
order to gain some hold over you, to force you to 
do what they want, and sell them the property.” 

“Do you think there is any connection between 
the man who was in to see my mother — the man 
who took the deed — and the man who was in the 


116 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


safe-blowing gang?” asked Larry, anxious to 
know how sound his own theories were. 

“I think the same man is concerned in all three 
transactions. The thing to do now is to catch 
him. If we do we can have him arrested on sus- 
picion of the safe-robbery, and then we can work 
up the land matter. But wait a few days before 
you do anything, and if anything new turns up, 
let me know.” 

The next day Mr. Newton was sent out of 
town on an assignment. Larry, too, had his 
hands full, for several reporters were on vaca- 
tions, and it meant doubling up all around. One 
afternoon, chancing to look over the “personal” 
advertisement column of the paper, he saw the 
following : 

“BLUE. — If return of document is desired 
from the fire, L. had better insert personal, mak- 
ing arrangements to sell land. Otherwise will 
suffer. Address, Mr. Hand.” 

“That’s rather odd,” thought Larry. “It al- 
most seems as if it was meant for me, and as if 
it was put in by the blue-handed man.” 

The more he looked at it the more certain he 
was that some one of the gang had become 
afraid to try and use the deed illegally, and had 
taken this means of frightening him and- his 
mother into complying with the gang’s wishes. 

“Those words ‘blue’ and ‘hand’ are certainly 


A STRANGE OFFER 


117 


put in so that I will see them,” thought Larry. 
“They must know we are on their track, yet they 
are very daring to come out so openly about it. 

I wonder what I had better do ?” 

The next day he showed the advertisement to'"'""* 
Mr. Newton. The latter was interested at once. 

He made inquiries at the business office of the pa- 
per to learn who had brought the personal in. 
There he met with a snag, for it had been sent in 
by mail, with stamps inclosed sufficient to pay for 
one insertion. This was frequently done with 
small advertisements. 

Mr. Newton had the letter hunted up which ac- 
companied the advertisement, but this gave no 
clews, as it was typewritten, as was the advertise- 
ment itself. 

“They’re up to date, at any rate,” the older 
reporter said. 

“What shall we do?” asked Larry, again. 

“Put an answering personal in,” replied Mr. 
Newton. “Here, I’ll write it. We’ll see if we 
can’t beat them at their own game.” 

He scribbled down a few words on a slip of 
paper, glanced over it, changed it slightly, and 
read : 

“HAND. — L. will do as you wish. Say where 
and when matter can be closed and deed re- 
turned. BLUE.” 

“That ought to fetch them,” said Mr. Newton. 


118 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

“Now we’ll put it in the paper, and wait for re- 
sults.” 

They did not have a long delay. The day fol- 
lowing the insertion of the personal by Mr. New- 
ton, Larry received a letter. It was typewritten, 
and came to his house. It was short, and directed 
him, if he wished to get the deed back, to sign 
a certain agreement which was inclosed in the 
missive, and leave the agreement in a cigar store, 
the address of which, Larry noted, was the same 
as the one in front of which he had met Peter 
Manton. 

As for the agreement it was a short one, in 
which Larry promised, in consideration of receiv- 
ing certain valuable property, to convey, by a 
warranty deed, to certain persons to be named 
hereafter, a tract of land in the Bronx. 

“Put the agreement in an envelope, and send it 
back to them,” advised Mr. Newton, when he 
was told of the matter. “I think we can catch 
the scoundrels. Even if you filled out the paper 
I doubt if it would stand in law, but we will not 
take that chance. Just leave it blank, put it in an 
envelope, and leave it in the cigar store. Ask 
no questions, and leave the rest to me.” 


CHAPTER XV 


THE SIGN OF THE BLUE HAND 

“When shall I do it?” asked Larry. 

“Let me see,” mused Mr. Newton. “I’ll have 
to lay my plans carefully. I guess to-morrow 
night would be a good time. We’ll write another 
personal, and put it in the paper to-morrow, tell- 
ing the gang the document will be in the cigar 
store.” 

“Then when they come to get it we’ll have a 
policeman on hand, and arrest whoever comes 
for it,” said Larry. “That’s the idea, isn’t it?” 

“Not exactly.” 

“I would think that was the thing to do.” 

“You don’t know these chaps, Larry. If we 
arranged to have a detective on guard, ready to 
grab whoever claimed the paper, the gang would 
learn of it in some way, and they would never 
come near the place. We will have to be foxier 
than that. We’ll have to do the watching our- 
selves, or rather I will. I believe none of the 
gang knows me. I’ll arrange to be in the cigar 
store to-morrow night, and I’ll follow whoever 
calls for the paper.” 

So it was arranged. The document, unsigned, 
was placed in the envelope which the men behind 
119 


120 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


the land plot had sent to Larry. He took it to 
the cigar store. The proprietor of the place kept 
a sort of private post-office, and had a number of 
boxes in which he kept mail or other things for 
his customers who preferred doing business 
that way rather than through the government 
agency. 

Larry handed the envelope to the man. The 
young reporter wanted to ask who Mr. Hand 
was, and where he lived, but he refrained, for 
he thought the cigar man would probably refuse 
to answer, or else say he did not know. 

That evening Mr. Newton stopped in the store 
to get a cigar. He thought the proprietor eyed 
him rather sharply, but Mr. Newton was used 
to meeting all sorts of persons in his capacity as 
a reporter, and did not mind being stared at. He 
tried to engage the proprietor in conversation, 
but the cigar dealer was not in a very pleasant 
mood, and answered shortly. 

“I promised a friend I would meet him here 
this evening,” said the reporter. “Have you any 
objections to me waiting in your store?” 

“Well, I don’t like people hanging around,” 
was the rather ungracious answer. “This place 
is small, and I need all the room there is to do 
business.” 

“My friend might want to buy a box of cigars,” 
said Mr. Newton. 

“Oh, of course, if he’s coming here in the way 
of trade,” said the cigar man, “I’ve no objec- 


THE SIGN OF THE BLUE HAND 121 

tions to your waiting, but as a general thing I 
don’t like it.” 

He tried to be polite, but it was hard work. 
He even got a chair for Mr. Newton to sit on, 
but all the time the cigar man seemed nervous 
and ill at ease. He kept watching the door, as 
though he expected someone to come in who 
would object to the reporter’s presence. 

An hour passed, and there was no sign of the 
blue-handed man or any messenger from him. 
Several persons called, and got letters or pack- 
ages from the boxes, but the document which 
Larry had placed in the envelope in accordance 
with the instructions contained in the personal, 
was not disturbed. 

“I wonder if they are suspicious,” thought 
the reporter. “They may have someone on the 
watch, or the proprietor may have sent them 
word that a stranger is in the store, and advis- 
ing them to be cautious. However, I’ll wait a 
while longer.” 

Another hour passed, and it was getting on to 
eleven o’clock. Mr. Newton was about to give 
up his vigil as fruitless, when a youth entered, 
went quickly up to the box, and took out the en- 
velope. Mr. Newton screened his face with a 
newspaper, but looked over the top of the sheet to 
see who the messenger of the mysterious gang 
was. 

“Well, if it isn’t Peter Manton, who used to be 
a copy boy ontthe Leader !” thought Mr. New- 


122 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


ton. “Well, of all things ! To think of him be- 
ing mixed up with that gang!” 

He was so surprised that he forgot to keep the 
paper up in front of his face, and lowered the 
sheet. After getting the letter from the box, 
Peter glanced over in the corner where Mr. New- 
ton sat. He recognized the reporter at once, and 
seemed much startled on beholding him. 

Shoving the envelope containing the blank 
agreement into his pocket, Peter hurried out of 
the store. 

“I must get after him!” thought Mr. Newton. 
He purchased a few cigars from the storekeeper 
to make some compensation for his long use of 
the chair, and, murmuring something about his 
friend probably having been detained, hurried 
from the place after Peter. 

As soon as he got outside he looked up and 
down the street to see in what direction the for- 
mer copy boy had gone. At first he could catch 
no glimpse of him. There were only a few per- 
sons on the thoroughfare, however, and soon Mr. 
Newton’s trained eyes picked out the youth hur- 
rying along on the opposite side of the street. 

“He’s trying to get away,” thought Mr. New- 
ton, as he stepped out briskly. “But I’ll trail 
him.” 

If Mr. Newton could have seen the figure of a 
short, stout man glide out from the shadow of 
the cigar store, as he himself left the place, and fol- 
low after him, he might not have felt so easy in his 


THE SIGN OF THE BLUE HAND 123 

mind about his ability to catch Peter. The man, 
taking after Mr. Newton, moved rapidly along, 
taking care to keep well in the shadows. His 
hat was pulled down low over his face, and on 
his hands were a pair of new gloves. 

“You’re trying a smart trick,” the mam mut- 
tered, as he shadowed Mr. Newton, “but I guess 
we’re on to your game. It’s a good thing I sent 
the boy instead of going myself.” 

Meanwhile the double chase continued. Peter 
hurried on, obeying the instructions he had re- 
ceived. He crossed several streets, and made his 
way to that part of New York known as China- 
town, in the neighborhood of Pell and Mott 
streets, the place of the slums and opium joints. 

After him came Mr. Newton, who kept as 
close behind the lad as was possible without de- 
tection. After Mr. Newton came the man wear- 
ing a new pair of gloves. 

“It’s a good thing Larry didn’t undertake this 
thing alone,” thought Mr. Newton. “The chase 
is leading into a dangerous part of town. But 
it’s just the place where I’d expect the gang to 
have its headquarters.” 

“I hope he doesn’t give up until he gets where 
I want him to,” murmured the man with the 
gloves. “If he doesn’t we’ll show him a thing or 
two, and I guess he’ll not be so fond of monkey- 
ing with other people’s affairs after this,” and 
he smiled in a cruel sort of way that boded no 
good to Mr. Newton. 


124 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


Peter was playing his part well. He must have 
known he was being followed, yet he gave no 
sign. If Mr. Newton had not been so intent on 
the chase, he might have noticed that the former 
copy boy was not going as fast as would have a 
messenger on a somewhat dangerous mission. 
Peter was only leading the reporter on. 

The boy swung into the Bowery, which at this 
hour of midnight was ablaze with lights, and 
crowded with people. Mr. Newton had some 
trouble keeping the youth in sight, but by short- 
ening the distance between himself and Peter, 
he managed to get glimpses of him now and 
again. Finally Peter turned into Pell Street. He 
walked on past several houses, and came to a 
halt in front of a Chinese store. In the windows 
were all sorts of queer things that the Celestials 
use for food. 

There were vegetables like cucumbers, pickled 
watermelon rind, sweetened ginger root, Lichi 
nuts, sunflower seeds, pickled eggs, dried sharks’ 
fins, the pith of bamboo shoots, ready for eating, 
bottles of rice wine, odd-shaped dishes, and many 
chopsticks. It was a Chinese grocery. 

At the left of the main entrance was a smaller 
one leading up a flight of stairs. In the hallway 
a lamp, shaded by red paper on which were some 
Chinese characters, gave a faint illumination. 

With a careful look about him, as if to see 
whether he was followed, Peter entered the hall- 
way, and began to mount the stairs. Mr. New- 


THE SIGN OF THE BLUE HAND 125 

ton hesitated. He might be running into a trap 
if he went in. Though he knew he was in 
New York, and that there were police officers 
close at hand, he realized that often many crimes 
were committed in Chinatown that never reached 
the police. 

But he wanted very much to find out what sort 
of a gang was behind the mysterious operations 
that had involved the Dexter family, and which 
gang also seemed to be mixed up in the safe-rob- 
bery. 

“I think I’ll chance it,” thought Mr. Newton. 

He paused a few seconds, as if to look at the 
things in the grocery window. Instead of observ- 
ing them, however, he was carefully looking 
around to see if there were any suspicious charac- 
ters in the neighborhood. 

He did not see the man with the gloves, for 
that individual, as soon as he had seen the re- 
porter stop in front of the building Peter entered, 
had hidden himself in a nearby doorway. 

“Here goes!” exclaimed Mr. Newton to him- 
self, as he entered the hallway. 

It was quite dark, in spite of the lamp. He 
went up the first flight, and found himself in a 
narrow hall, from which several doors opened. 

“I wonder which room he went into,” thought 
the reporter. “I can’t knock at all of them and 
ask. Few of the Chinese understand English 
when you want ’em to.” 

He decided to go to the top floor, and get an 


126 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


idea of the layout of the place, before making 
any inquiries. So he continued up the next flight 
of stairs. The floor above was like the second, 
except that the portal of one room was open. 
Going past it Mr. Newton peered inside. He saw 
two solemn-faced Chinese playing a card game, 
and smoking long-stemmed pipes. 

“I guess he’s not in there,” thought Mr. New- 
ton. ‘Til try the next floor. 

Up he went, listening now and then to see if 
he was being followed. He could hear no foot- 
steps, and there was good reason for it, as the 
man with the gloves, who had glided into the 
hallway a few seconds after Mr. Newton had 
entered, had slipped over his heavy shoes a pair 
of large felt slippers that made no sound. 

“He’s walking right into the trap!” said the 
man with the gloves. “We’ll have him now.” 

Mr. Newton reached the top hall. He saw a 
number of doors. At the end of the corridor, in 
front of one portal, there burned a dim hanging- 
lamp. 

“I’ll see what’s in there,” the reporter mused. 

He reached the door. He was about to knock 
when he happened to glance up. 

He was startled to see confronting him, painted 
on a panel of the door, a large blue hand. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A VAIN QUEST 

“I guess this is the place,” thought the re- 
porter. “It’s rather odd, though, that they dare 
adopt such a sign as that openly, when they must 
know we are on their track in connection with 
the safe-robbery. I wonder if I’d better go in.” 

The question was answered for him, as, at that 
instant, the door opened. Mr. Newton saw be- 
fore him a room brightly lighted. Around a ta- 
ble were seated four men. In front of them was 
the envelope which had been obtained by Peter 
at the cigar store. Peter was nowhere to be seen. 

“Well?” inquired one of the men, a short, slim 
fellow. 

“I was looking for a friend, a young man,” 
said Mr. Newton, rather taken by surprise. 

“Yes, we know who it was. He brought this 
envelope. But it’s no good. You can’t fool us !” 
exclaimed a voice behind Mr. Newton, and the 
next instant the reporter was shoved into the 
room by the man with the gloves, who entered 
after him, and shut the door, which closed with 
a snap. 

At first the reporter was startled with the sud- 
denness of it all, and he was not a little alarmed. 

127 


128 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


He knew he was alone, and in the power of the 
gang he had sought to run down. He was also 
in the worst part of the city, where cries for help 
might go unheeded, since there were hourly fight- 
ings among the inhabitants, to which cries the po- 
lice, if they heard them, paid no attention. 

Mr. Newton thought he had been a little hasty. 
However, he resolved to put the best face on it 
he could, and not to seem frightened. 

“Well?” asked the short, slim man again. 
“Now you’ve seen your friend isn’t here, what 
can we do for you?” 

“You might give me back the stolen deed, for 
one thing,” exclaimed Mr. Newton, boldly, “and 
your friend Noddy might explain something in 
connection with a certain safe-robbery, while as 
for Mr. Perkins, he might tell what his plans are 
in connection with that land grab !” 

There was a sudden stir among the men, as 
Mr. Newton said this. Two of the men got up 
from their chairs, and started toward the re- 
porter, but a gesture from the man with the 
gloves restrained him. The latter then said, 
slowly and deliberately : 

“You think you know a heap about us, don’t 
you?” 

“I know more than you think I do, Noddy,” 
said Mr. Newton, coolly. 

“Well, you didn’t play this trick right,” sneered 
Noddy. “We haven’t opened that envelope,- but 
we know it doesn’t contain the agreement we 


A VAIN QUEST 


129 


want and intend to have. To prove you that, I’ll 
tear it up without opening it.” 

This he did, throwing the pieces into a coal 
box that stood in a far corner of the apart- 
ment. 

“In the next place,” went on Noddy, “you’ve 
gone a little too far in following our messenger 
here. We expected you would do so, however, 
and made our plans accordingly. Now you’re 
here you may have to stay longer than you 
counted on.” 

“I guess not,” remarked Mr. Newton, speak- 
ing as lightly as he could, though he confessed 
afterward he felt no little alarm. “Remember, 
we’re in New York.” 

“No! We’re not in New York! We’re in 
Chinatown, and that makes all the difference in 
the world!” exclaimed Noddy. “Get the cords, 
Ned!” 

The tallest of the four men rose, and went to 
a closet. He came back quickly with a long, thin, 
but very stout rope under his arm. 

. “Fasten him up now !” commanded Noddy. 

“Not without a fight!” exclaimed Mr. Newton. 
He backed into a corner, and stood ready to de- 
fend himself. He caught sight of an iron poker 
near the coal-box, and grabbed it up. 

“There’s going to be some broken heads if you 
touch me!” the reporter cried. 

The four men, with Ned, holding the cords, in 
the lead, hung back. 


130 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

“Don’t be afraid of him!” yelled Noddy. “You 
can get the better of him !” 

Mr. Newton swung the poker menacingly. 

“Try it yourself, if you’re so anxious to get a 
cracked cocoanut!” muttered one of the men to 
Noddy. 

Noddy made a motion as if to grapple with the 
reporter. But Mr. Newton, with a sudden mo- 
tion, advanced, and stood in front of his enemy. 
Noddy reached his hand back toward his pocket, 
as if to draw a weapon. With a quickness that 
could not be guarded against, Mr. Newton swung 
the poker around, and brought it down on Nod- 
dy’s arm, making the fellow howl with pain. 

“You’ll pay for this!” the man yelled. 

Mr. Newton took advantage of the confusion 
which his attack had caused. He sprang to the 
door, and, with three blows from his weapon had 
shattered the lock. He threw the portal open, 
and dashed out into the hall. 

“Stop him!” yelled Noddy. 

“You’re too late!” called back the reporter. 

“You’ll be sorry for this!” Noddy’s voice 
sounded through the passageway, as Mr. New- 
ton sped away. “We’ve only just begun our 
campaign against your friends. Our next move 
will not be so easy on you!” 

The noise of the blows on the door had brought 
a score or more of frightened Chinese from their 
rooms in the building, and they crowded into 
the halls and on the stairs as the reporter hur- 


A VAIN QUEST 


131 


ried out. This gave Mr. Newton one advantage, 
for the opening of the doors made the passages 
light. 

In their frightened, cackling voices the Chinese 
sounded not unlike a lot of scared hens and roos- 
ters. In their anxiety to see what was going on, 
and perhaps in a desire to escape from what they 
evidently considered a raid by the police, some of 
the Celestials got in Mr. Newton’s way. He 
pushed through the throng, knocking some of the 
Mongolians over, at which they yelled louder 
than before. 

Out into Pell Street sped the reporter, expect- 
ing to be pursued by some of the gang. But 
when he had reached the middle of the thorough- 
fare, which, even at the midnight hour, was well 
filled with people, he saw that no one was after 
him. 

His sudden exit from the house, and the noise 
he left behind him, seemed to attract no atten- 
tion, as the people of that neighborhood were 
used to all sorts of queer affairs, and it was con- 
sidered impolite, in Pell Street, to inquire too 
closely into your neighbor’s business. 

“Well, that was a lucky and rather narrow es- 
cape,” mused Mr. Newton, as he made his way 
toward the Bowery. “I guess I made a mistake 
in going up against that gang alone. I’ll know 
better next time. I’ve failed on this occasion, 
and we are as far off as ever from getting the 
deed, but I have another plan.” 


132 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


Thinking Larry might be anxious to know the 
result of his attempt, Mr. Newton went to his 
friend’s house. Beyond telling him he had failed, 
the older reporter did not acquaint Larry with 
the details of the attack and the escape. 

“What do you suppose became of Peter?” 
asked Larry. 

“Oh, I guess he was somewhere in the house,” 
replied Mr. Newton. “It was like the other 
houses in Chinatown, a regular rabbit warren, 
with half a dozen entrances. He could go in one 
way, and out another. But I’ll land ’em yet.” 

“What do you plan to do next?” 

“To tell you the truth, I haven’t made up my 
mind,” Mr. Newton replied. “I’m sort of up 
against a stone wall. I want to sleep over it. 
Then, perhaps, I shall hit on something.” 

It was now nearly one o’clock in the morning. 
Larry and Mr. Newton had been standing out in 
front of the Dexter apartments, for Larry did 
not want his mother to know about the quest, 
fearing she would worry over it. So, when Mr.. 
Newton called on him, the two had gone outside. 

“We can’t do anything more now,” remarked 
Larry. 

“No, and I guess I’ll go home, and go to bed,” 
said Mr. Newton. “I’m all tired out.” 

Bidding Larry good-night, Mr. Newton 
started off down the street. The neighborhood 
was rather poorly lighted, the lamps being few 
and far between. Pondering over the strange 


A VAIN QUEST 


133 


mix-up he had become involved in, the reporter 
was proceeding along rather absent-mindedly. 

Suddenly his attention was attracted by some- 
one in the house opposite him opening a window, 
and shouting: 

“Thieves! Murder! Fire! Police !” 

“That sounds like trouble,” thought Mr. New- 
ton. “I seem to be going to put in a full night 
of it.” 

“Help! Help! Help!” the voice, which was 
that of a woman, continued to yell. “I’m being 
robbed!” 

Mr. Newton placed his fingers to his lips, and 
blew a long, shrill whistle. He thought if there 
was a policeman in the neighborhood he would 
hear it, and hurry to the woman’s aid. Mean- 
while Mr. Newton decided to do what he could 
singlehanded. *** 

“What’s the trouble?” he inquired. 

“It’s robbers!” the woman exclaimed. “They 
are trying to get into my room, and steal my dia- 
monds !” 

“Are they there now?” 

“They’re in the house. I heard them run down- 
stairs, and they’re hiding in the dining-room. 
Oh, please, dear, good, kind Mr. Man, won’t you 
save me !” 

“I don’t believe any burglars will remain 
around long with that screaming going on,” 
thought Mr. Newton. 

By this time windows all over the neighbor- 


134 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


hood were going up, heads were poked out, and 
half a score of voices asked what the trouble was. 
One excited man fired his revolver. 

Several policemen came up on the run, and, 
seeing Mr. Newton, who was the only person in 
the street at that time, they all made a dash for 
him. 

“We’ve caught you!” one of the bluecoats 
cried. 

“So I see,” remarked Mr. Newton, calmly. 
“What are you going to do with me?” 

“It’ll be state’s prison for yours,” the officer 
went on, taking a firmer grip of Mr. Newton’s 
arm. 

“He isn’t the one at all !” exclaimed the woman 
who had given the first alarm. “He was going 
to capture the burglar for me !” 

“What burglar?” cried the policemen, in a 
chorus. 

“The one in the dining-room !” 

Mr. Newton rapidly explained what had hap- 
pened. One of the officers took a closer look at 
the reporter. 

“I know him J” the bluecoat exclaimed. “He’s 
on the Leader. Come on, boys, let’s get the bur- 
glar!” 

The officers, thinking there would be a chance 
to distinguish themselves, went up the steps of 
the house, the woman having called to them that 
she would come down, and open the door. When 
the policemen got inside they made a careful 


A VAIN QUEST 135 

search all over the premises, but could find no 
burglar. 

“I’m sure I heard one !” the woman insisted. 
“You mean you heard a noise,” corrected one 
of the policemen. 

“Well, it was just the kind of a noise a burglar 
would make.” 

Just then there came a series of thumps from 
the hall. 

“There it is again !” cried the woman. 
“There’s the burglar!” 

The officers made a rush for the passageway. 


CHAPTER XVII 


SETTING A TRAP 

The sounds increased in loudness. There 
seemed to be a struggle going on in the hall, 
which was dark, and Mr. Newton, hearing the 
scuffle, thought perhaps he might get a burglar 
story after all. 

“I’ve got him !” cried one of the policemen. 

The words were followed v by a long drawn-out 
and plaintive howl. 

“Here’s the burglar !” exclaimed another blue- 
coat, as he and his companions entered the din- 
ing-room, where the woman had lighted the gas. 

The officer held up a big cat, whose head was 
fast inside a milk pitcher. The animal, in search 
of a drink, had stuck its nose into the receptacle, 
and had been caught. In its efforts to free itself 
it had thumped the pitcher over the floor, produc- 
ing the sounds which had alarmed the wdfrian. 

“Why, it’s my Teddy!” the woman exclaimed. 
“I wonder how I will ever get the pitcher off."” 

“Til show you,” replied a bluecoat. With a 
blow of his club he broke the pitcher without 
hurting the cat, which, as soon as it was released, 
ran, and hid under the table. 

“I’m sure I’m much obliged to all of you,” the 
136 


SETTING A TRAP 


137 


woman said. “I was sure I was going to be mur- 
dered by a burglar. ,, 

“We’re sorry it wasn’t one,” said one of the 
officers. “I mean,” he hastened to add, “not 
wishin’ ye any harm, of course, mum, but we’d 
like the chance of catchin’ a burglar, seein’ as 
how times is a little dull.” 

Laughing among themselves the policemen 
filed out. In the meanwhile quite a crowd had 
gathered outside, for the rumor had spread that 
a woman had been robbed and murdered, and 
scores of neighbors had hastily dressed and come 
out. 

“Here they come!” several persons exclaimed, 
as the officers came out. “Where’s the burglar?” 

“We left him there,” replied one of the police- 
men. “He lives there. His name is Mr. Thomas 
Cat.” 

“Oh!” a score or more exclaimed, much dis- 
appointed. Then, after hearing all the particu- 
lars, they went back to bed. 

Mr. Newton remained to get the woman’s 
name, as he intended to write up a funny story of 
the burglar scare. It was past two o’clock when 
he reached home, and he slept so soundly that he 
was late getting to work next morning. How- 
ever, Mr. Emberg said nothing, when told of the 
cat episode, and told the reporter to take his time, 
and turn out a good account of the “burglar.” 

Larry, as did the other reporters, had a busy 
time of it that day. There were several fires, 


138 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


a number of accidents, and a shooting case. Mr. 
Newton had scarcely a chance to sp&ak to his 
friend, and Larry was anxious for the last edi- 
tion to get under way, so he might inquire 
whether Mr. Newton had thought up any new 
plan to get back the deed and bring the safe-rob- 
bers to justice. 

When the last forms had gone to the stereo- 
typers, and no other news remained to go. into 
the paper, unless something big, necessitating an 
extra, should occur, Larry found a chance to ask : 

“Well, Mr. Newton, have you thought of a 
plan?” 

“I have,” was the answer. “I-t occurred to me 
only a little while ago. I think it’s a pretty good 
one.” 

“What is it?” 

“It involves another visit to our chemist friend, 
Mr. Hosfer,” replied Mr. Newton. “I think we’ll 
enlist his aid in this case. He’s a sort of amateur 
detective among his other accomplishments.” 

So that evening they went to the chemist’s 
house. They found him in the midst of his bot- 
tles and test tubes, working away, while a most 
unpleasant odor pervaded the laboratory. 

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” called the chem- 
ist, as Larry and Mr. Newton entered. “I can’t 
seem to get this mixture just right.” 

“It seems plenty strong enough,” remarked 
Mr. Newton, holding his handkerchief to his 
nose. “What in the world is it?” 


SETTING A TRAP 139 

“Something with which to take out inkstains. 
Do you object to the smell ?” 

“Well, it isn’t exactly what you would call a 
perfume,” said Mr. Newton. 

“It’s got to be strong, you know,” said Mr. 
Hosfer. “Otherwise it would not work. But I’ll 
stop for a while, and talk to you. I suppose you 
have some horrible, mysterious, sensational, 
blood-curdling, hair-raising, nerve-racking case 
on your hands. Oh, you reporters are the most 
terrible fellows in the world ! Living amid blood 
and thunder, it’s a wonder to me you ever sleep,” 
and laughing heartily, in strange contrast to his 
rather exciting language, Mr. Hosfer came for- 
ward, and shook hands with them. 

“The smell don’t come off,” he said, with a 
smile. 

“I wish some of it would go out,” remarked 
Mr. Newton. “Can’t you open a window or — or 
make some other odor take its place? It smells 
like a skunk factory in here.” 

“Wait, I’ll fix it,” replied the chemist. From 
several bottles he poured a mixture into a glass. 
This he stirred up, and then put into an atomizer. 
He sprayed the stuff all around the apartment, 
and soon a most agreeable odor was noticeable in 
the air of the room. 

“That’s better,” came from Larry. “What is 
it?” 

“An imitation of violet perfume,” answered 
Mr. Hosfer. 


140 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“It smells like the real thing,” ventured Mr. 
Newton. 

“Well, it’s like most perfumes. Very few of 
them ever see the flowers they’re named after,” 
commented the chemist. “Now what horrible 
happening brought you here?” 

“It isn’t exactly horrible,” replied Mr. New- 
ton, “but I’ll admit it’s something of a mystery, 
and it may develop into a sensational case.” 

“I knew it!” exclaimed Mr. Hosfer. “You 
couldn’t keep away from sensationalism and ter- 
rible things if you tried. Now tell me all about 
it. I like excitement.” 

“You remember me coming here with that 
blue paper?” asked Mr. Newton. 

“Sure. The one with nitro-glycerine stains 
on it.” 

“That’s the one. Well, now I want you to find 
something that will take those stains from a man’s 
hand.” 

“I guess that would be hard work. Those acid 
stains go in pretty deep, and stay until the skin 
wears off, as I told you.” 

“Well, you have something that will pretty 
nearly take them out, haven’t you?” 

“Oh, I guess I could find some chemical that 
would make them fade out somewhat.” 

“That’s what I want you to do. When you 
find it you’re going to put an advertisement in 
the paper stating that you can remove all sorts of 
stains from hands and faces. In short, you’re 


SETTING A TRAP 


141 


going to become a sort of skin doctor for a 
while,” said Mr. Newton. 

“What’s it all about?” asked the chemist. 

Then Mr. Newton told Mr. Hosfer the main 
facts in connection with the safe-robbery, and the 
theft of Larry’s deed. He related how they had 
gotten on the track of the blue-handed man, but 
how the quest for the deed had failed. 

“I’m afraid if we cause his arrest we will never 
see the deed again,” said Mr. Newton. “Beside 
we really have no evidence that would stand in 
court if they got a clever lawyer to defend Noddy, 
as he is called. We must work without the aid 
of the authorities for the present. We want to 
get the deed back first. Then we want some 
clews to the others concerned in the safe-robbery, 
and, last, I want to get on the track of the land 
operators, for I am sure there is a big swin- 
dle going on there that concerns the Board of 
Aldermen.” 

“How can I help you by becoming a skin doc- 
tor?” asked the chemist. 

“In this way,” replied the reporter. “We will 
put the advertisement in the paper. Unless I am 
very much mistaken it will be seen and read by 
Noddy, the blue-handed man. I am sure he 
would only be too glad to get rid of the stains, 
and so save himself the trouble of wearing gloves. 
Besides, he knows we are after him, and that 
his hands offer a rather easy mark of identifica- 
tion.” 


142 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“But he could go to some other doctor who 
makes a business of removing stains from hands 
and faces,” suggested Mr. Hosfer. 

“Yes, he could, but I don’t believe he will. I 
have no doubt he has thought of that plan, but, 
you see, the trouble is he wants to keep under 
cover. If he went to an ordinary doctor he might 
be asked embarrassing questions, such as how 
the stains came on his hands. This might lead 
to unpleasant results. No, Noddy wants to keep 
under cover, and we’ll respect his wishes, at least 
for a while.” 

“We’ll put in the advertisement about you,” 
Mr. Newton went on, “that all cases are strictly 
confidential, and that no questions are asked. 
That will catch Noddy, and he’ll walk into our 
trap.” 

“What will I do when I get him?” asked the 
chemist. “Preserve him in alcohol?” 

“I think we’ll make no attempt to capture 
him,” said Mr. Newton. “That is, at first. If 
he calls at your laboratory use some of the prepa- 
ration which you are to make, on his hands. 
Don’t make it very strong, and take only a little 
of the stain off. Tell him he will have to come 
again. In this way he can be induced to pay sev- 
eral visits to you.” 

“In the meanwhile I can be working my end of 
the game. Have, all the visits at night. Tell him 
you can treat him at no other time. That will 
give me a chance to be on hand. I’ll follow him 


SETTING A TRAP 


143 


when he leaves here, and I may be able to get on 
the track of the deed.” 

“It sounds like a good scheme,” commented the 
chemist. ‘Til get right to work on the stain- 
removing mixture.” 

“And I’ll look after the advertisement,” said 
Mr. Newton. 

“Suppose a lot of people come to have stains 
removed?” suggested Mr. Hosfer. “What am I 
to do?” 

“Why, remove the stains, of course,” replied 
Mr. Newton. “You may to be able to make a lot 
of money out of this.” 

“I’ll lose a lot of valuable time,” said the chem- 
ist. “But never mind, I’ll do it to help you out.” 

The next day there appeared in several papers 
an advertisement to the effect that the celebrated 
chemist, Mr. Hosfer, would remove stains of all 
kinds from the hands or face for a moderate sum. 
All cases were to be treated in strict confidence, 
and no questions were to be asked, it was stated. 

“There, that ought to catch him,” said Mr. 
Newton, as he read it over. 

It was several days before he was able to pay 
Mr. Hosfer a visit again. When he and Larry 
called on the chemist they found him busier than 
ever in his laboratory. 

“Did he come?” asked Mr. Newton. 

“Did he come?” repeated Mr. Hosfer. “Say, 
I’m sorry I ever consented to this. I’ll bet I’ve 
removed stains from a hundred hands in the last 


144 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

two days! I’m nearly exhausted by the busi- 
ness.” 

“But did Noddy come?” 

“I’ll tell you all about it,” said Mr. Hosfer, 
laying aside a test tube, and sitting down in a 
chair. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


ELECTION NIGHT 

“I had no idea,” the chemist continued, “how 
many people there were in New York who had 
stains that they desired removed from their hands 
or faces. It’s astonishing, that’s what it is. Men 
and women came here, covered with ink, or else 
marked with acids and chemicals, and wanted 
me to make ’em look nice again so they could 
go to a dance, or appear in public. Mothers 
brought their sons and daughters, all marked up 
from playing with paint or something else, and 
wanted me to make ’em right again.” 

“But did Noddy come?” insisted Mr. Newton. 

“Wait, I’m coming to that,” replied Mr. Hos- 
fer, “but I have to tell it in my own way. After 
about a hundred ordinary people had called on 
me, I began to think our trap was a failure, since 
the bird we wanted did not come. In the mean- 
while I had used up about ten dollars’ worth of 
chemicals removing stains.” 

“Didn’t any of them offer to pay you ?” asked 
Larry. 

“Not a one,” replied the chemist, sadly. “I 
guess they thought this was a dispensary for the 
poor. Well, never mind that. But last evening, 
145 


146 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


just as I was about to close up the shop, there 
came a ring at the bell, and in came a man, who, 
the minute I set eyes on him, I knew to be the 
person we wanted/’ 

“It was Noddy, eh?” asked Mr. Newton. 

“That’s who it was. He had on a pair of 
gloves, and he seemed quite nervous. He wanted 
to know if it was all straight about the advertise- 
ment, and I told him it was. That I wouldn’t ask 
any questions, but would remove any stains he 
might have, and only charge him a small sum.” 

“What did he say?” asked Mr. Newton. 

“Said he didn’t care what it cost. Then he 
pulled off his gloves, and showed me the bluest 
pair of hands you ever saw. The moment I saw 
’em I knew he was our man. But I didn’t say 
anything.” 

“Is he coming again?” asked Mr. Newton, 
anxiously. 

“This. very evening,” replied Mr. Hosfer. “I 
used a weak solution of acid, and only took part 
of the stain off. I told him he would have to 
come back for three evenings, and he promised to 
be here about nine o’clock to-night !” 

“It’s almost that now,” observed Larry. “We’d 
better get out of the way.” 

“That’s so,” remarked Mr. Newton. “Now 
this is my plan. Have you some place where 
you can hide us, Mr. Hosfer?” 

“I guess so.” 

“Well, I want to follow Noddy when he goes 


ELECTION NIGHT 


147 


from here. I think I can do it with better success 
than I did in the case of Peter. I must find out 
where he lives, since I am convinced he has the 
deed in his possession.” 

“You and Larry can go into the next room,” 
said the chemist. “You can hear everything that 
goes on in here, and when Noddy starts to leave, 
after I have treated him, you can be all ready to 
follow. He’ll never see you.” 

“That’s a good idea,” spoke Mr. Newton. 
“We’d better go in now. He may be along at 
any moment.” 

They had hardly entered the room opening off 
from the laboratory when there came a knock at 
the door, and Noddy entered. 

Through a crack in the portal Mr. Newton 
watched the blue-handed man. Noddy seemed ill 
at ease. He still wore his gloves, but he took 
them off soon after entering the laboratory. 

“Now we’ll try the second application,” Larry 
and Mr. Newton heard Mr. Hosfer say. “This 
will almost do the trick.” 

“I hope you’ll soon be done,” Noddy said. 
“I’m getting tired of wearing these gloves around. 
You see,” he volunteered, “I spilled some bluing 
on my hands as I was helping my wife with the 
wash, and it looks rather bad; that’s the reason 
I want to get rid of it.” 

“I’ll soon fix you,” remarked Mr. Hosfer, pay- 
ing no attention to the explanation Noddy of- 
fered. 


148 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


The chemist applied several solutions to Nod- 
dy’s hands, and, under his treatment, the blue 
color faded somewhat. The chemist knew it 
could not be taken out entirely, but he did not 
consider it his place to tell the man so. It was 
a case of wits being matched against wits, and 
the chemist favored the side of justice. 

“That’s all I can do for you to-night,” Mr. 
Hosfer remarked at length, speaking in loud 
tones, so Mr. Newton, in the next room, could 
hear him. “Come to-morrow or next day.” 

“I wish you could finish with me,” remarked 
Noddy. “I want to get rid of this stain, and go 
away.” 

“I’m doing the best I can,” replied Mr. Hosfer. 
“Yours is a bad case.” 

“It’s a good deal worse than you think,” mut- 
tered the man. 

A few minutes later Noddy left the house. Mr. 
Newton was close after him, trailing him along 
the half-deserted streets. Larry had been left 
behind, with instructions to await the older re- 
porter’s return. 

For a number of blocks Mr. Newton had no 
trouble in keeping after Noddy. The suspected 
safe-robber wore a light hat, which was conspicu- 
ous among the throng of people on the thorough- 
fares, most of whom had on dark headgear. 

“I think I’ll land him this time,” murmured Mr. 
Newton. “I’ll not run my head into a Chinese 
den again, though. He seems to be heading for 


ELECTION NIGHT 


149 


a respectable part of town. I guess our trick’s 
going to work.” 

It was now about ten o’clock. Noddy had 
reached Union Square, and was crossing the 
small park near Broadway. Close behind him, 
taking care not to be seen, was Mr. Newton. 
There was quite a throng in the streets, and many 
vehicles. 

Suddenly an automobile, the driver of which 
seemed to lose his head, rammed a trolley car. 
The crash was heard for some distance, and, 
though no one was hurt in the accident, it caused 
a blockade. Noddy halted to see what the trouble 
was, and Mr. Newton found himself on the out- 
skirts of quite a crowd that was collecting. 

Just then Noddy turned, and, by some chance, 
looked straight at the reporter who was trailing 
him. One glance was enough for Noddy. He 
seemed to sink down amid the throng. Mr. New- 
ton made his way farther into the midst of the 
crowd, but all traces of Noddy were lost. There 
was no sign of the light hat. 

“Well, that’s bad luck!” exclaimed Mr. New- 
ton. “I guess our plan’s knocked in the head.” 

Nor was he mistaken, for Noddy did not come 
back to the chemist’s the next night. The trap 
had proved a failure. 

“I guess we’ll have to let the thing go for a 
while,” said Mr. Newton to Larry, on the after- 
noon following the unsuccessful trailing of 
Noddy. “Election’s coming on now, and we’ll 


150 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


both be pretty busy. I don’t believe the gang 
will dare to do anything, now that they know 
we’re after them. I think we can let things rest 
for a while.” 

. Larry agreed with this idea. As Mr. Newton 
had said, there was plenty of work about the 
Leader office now. There was a three-sided cam- 
paign on that year. The Democrats had their 
candidates, as did the Republicans. Then there 
was an Independent ticket in the field. These 
men had a number of issues which they wanted 
to see win. Altogether it was what politicians 
call a “hot” campaign. 

It was drawing to a close, however. In an- 
other week there would come the election, when 
all questions would be settled. 

Larry had his first experience in a big news- 
paper office during the most exciting time; that 
is, on an election night. 

Y For several days the older reporters had been 
making up tables on which the returns were to 
be set down as they came in from each district. 

' Mr. Emberg and his assistants were working 
early and late to get things into shape. 

Election day passed itself off quietly enough. 
The political writers were kept busy, telling how 
things seemed to look according to early informa- 
tion, but as for forecasting who was elected no 
one could do that. All day the battle of the bal- 
lots continued. 

The Leader, being an afternoon paper, was go- 


ELECTION NIGHT 


151 


ing to issue a morning extra. To get this out the 
men would have to work all night, in addition to 
being on duty all day. It was hard on them, but 
they didn’t mind it once a year. 

No sooner had the last edition gone to press 
in the afternoon than preparations were made for 
getting out the next morning’s extra. The men 
in charge of the tables got them ready, spreading 
them out on large boards. The tables looked 
like big-sized war maps, with little blocks and 
spaces for each election district, a place devoted 
to each candidate, and squares where the total 
vote might be cast up. 

In the different polling places the last ballots 
were being put into boxes. The clerks and 
judges, with their eye on the clock, stood ready 
to call “time,” when the hour of sunset should 
be marked. The last voters were being corraled. 

In a few minutes the big contest would be over, 
all excepting the counting of the tickets. 

At each polling place policemen were stationed. 

It was the duty of the bluecoats to take charge of 
the ballot box, after the tickets had been counted. v * 
The officers had blanks, prepared by the different 
papers, and these were brought to City Hall, 
where the tally was taken. 

The newspapers had men at this point to make 
a record of the votes each candidate received. 
This record was quickly transmitted to the office, 
either by messenger or telephone. 

As he had had no experience at this work 


152 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


Larry was only a sort of reserve man, being held 
in readiness to be sent out on ordinary news. As 
the night was dull, except for election, he had a 
chance to see how the paper got the returns. 

At the big tables half a dozen men were sta- 
tioned, anxiously waiting. With pencils poised 
they stood ready to jot down the figures under 
each candidate’s name. It was very quiet, and 
there was no excitement. Each man knew what 
he had to do, and was ready to do it. 

In rushed a messenger. He carried a long slip. 
This he handed to the man at the first table, the 
“caller-off.” “Seventeenth assembly district,” 
cried the reporter, and then in low but distinct 
tones he read each candidate’s name, and gave his 
vote. In the proper squares the markers set the 
figures down. There were several sets of tables, 
and, as soon as one was filled, the slip was passed 
to the set of men at the next one. 

In this way hundreds of districts were re- 
corded. Through the night the work went on. 
As soon as a district was completed the talliers 
would cut it out from the sheet, and call off the 
figures to another man, who sat at an adding ma- 
chine. This man quickly computed the total vote, 
and it was set down. 

Then the section of table was rushed upstairs 
to the composing room, where the printers 
quickly, on their type-setting machines, made a 
duplicate of it. 

Toward the end the work became hard and tir- 


ELECTION NIGHT 


153 


in g. The returns came piling in, and the nerve 
tension under which the men worked was tre- 
mendous. But there was little excitement. 

Finally the returns were all in. Then came 
the tedious task of figuring the totals, for on this 
depended the result of the election, and finding 
out which party had won. 

“Click! Click! Click!” went the adding ma- 
chines. Number after number the reporters 
called off. Upstairs in the composing room the 
type-machines were working overtime. 

Everyone was under a great strain. Seconds 
seemed fike minutes. At times, during a lull, the 
ticking of the clock sounded like the firing of a 
rifle. In corners of the room experts were figur- 
ing pluralities and majorities. Other reporters 
were writing interviews with winning or losing 
candidates. Still others were describing the 
scenes on the streets, the torchlight processions, 
the happenings at the political headquarters, and 
telling what the effect of the Board of Aldermen 
changing from one party to the other would be. 

There was not an idle person in the room. The 
city editor was here, there, everywhere. He 
seemed to be carrying the responsibility of a 
dozen men. • He was telling everyone to hurry, as 
it was time for the morning extra to be out on 
the street. 

At last the final additions were made. The last 
computations were completed. 

“The Independents have won !” was the cry. 


154 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“Hurrah !” came the shouts from outside. 

The last form was sent down. The stereo- 
typers were working like mad. The hungry 
presses were waiting. The engine was at full 
steam. 

Out from the casting machine came the half- 
curved plates of type from which the papers were 
to be printed. Half-naked men clamped them 
upon the cylinders. They contained the thou- 
sands of figures that told the story of the battle of 
the ballots. The last plate was slapped into place. 

“All ready!” cried the foreman. 

A bell rang. The engine started. There was 
a subdued roar. There was a rattle, a bang, a 
throb of the basement floor. Then came a shrill 
screech as the belts gripped the wheels, and the 
machinery started. In another instant the roar 
became a steady thunder, and hundreds of papers 
a minute began falling from the presses. 

The election extra was out. 



THEN CAME A SHRILL SCREECH AS THE BELTS GRIPPED THE WHEELS, 

AND THE PRESSES STARTED. 

Larry Dexter, Reporter 








CHAPTER XIX 


A QUEER LETTER 

It was just getting dawn when the reporters, 
editors, and copy readers, who had worked so 
hard on the extra, stopped, and had a breathing 
spell. Down in the street the newsboys were 
crying their wares in shrill tones. The thor- 
oughfares were almost deserted, however, save 
by a few night-workers who were hurrying home. 
In a little while, though, they would be thronged 
by crowds anxious to buy papers, to scan the re- 
turns, for not everyone remains up late enough 
to find out who is elected. 

Larry thought, now that the paper was out, 
there w T ould be a chance for all hands to go to 
bed, and get some sleep. But as the Leader was 
an afternoon paper, and the election extra was a 
sort of side line, the entire force, without hav- 
ing had a wink of sleep, had to turn in and get 
ready for the regular issue. 

“But before we do that we’ll have breakfast,” 
remarked Mr. Emberg. So he took the crowd of 
reporters to a nearby restaurant, where some hot 
coffee and wheat cakes with maple syrup made 
everyone feel a bit fresher, though there were 
many sleepy eyes in the city room that day. 

155 


156 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


Larry thought he never would be able to stick 
it out. Every now and then, in the midst of his 
writing, he would find his head nodding toward 
the desk, and he would just catch himself in time. 
He looked around somewhat sheepishly at such 
times, but no one seemed to be noticing him. As 
a matter of fact everyone else had momentary 
failings. 

Aside from going over the returns, and mak- 
ing some corrections, getting interviews from de- 
feated candidates and leaders who told how they 
had been whipped, and talks with successful ones, 
who told how the people were sure to be benefited 
by the new party, there was not much news that 
day. 

A few fires, none of them very big, several 
robberies, and a number of accidents, one or 
which proved fatal, made up the day’s happen- 
ings. Usually a general lack of news was some- 
thing to be regarded as an undesirable happening, 
but the day after election even the editors were 
too weary to want many items. 

The paper closed early that afternoon, and 
Larry went straight home, ate a hearty supper, and 
then tumbled into bed. He slept like a top until 
the sun, streaming in at his window, awakened 
him, and then he felt as if a few hours more 
would have done him no harm. 

But he felt freshened up, and, making a hearty 
breakfast, went to the office. He was among the 
first to arrive. Mr. Newton was there, busily en- 


157 


A QUEER LETTER 

gaged in writing at his desk. He looked up when 
Larry entered. 

“Anything new?” he asked, and Larry shook 
his head, knowing his friend referred to the 
deed. 

“We’ll have to get busy on that again, now,” 
spoke Mr. Newton, coming over to where Larry 
was. “It will not do to let the gang think we 
have given up.” 

“But what can we do?” asked Larry. 

“We’ll wait, and see if they don’t do some- 
thing first,” replied Mr. Newton. “They may 
show us a little more of their hand, and give us 
a better clew to work on. I guess we can’t de- 
pend any more on Mr. Hosfer to help us. He 
will be suspected by the gang from now on. 
We’ll have to think up a new plan.” 

“Do you suppose they’ll be after me again, to 
sign the deed ?” asked Larry. 

“I presume so. They must have your signa- 
ture, as well as that of your mother. In fact, 
I doubt if they could get possession of the prop- 
erty, even if you and your mother did sign. You 
see, it belongs to you, your mother, and the other 
children jointly. It would be necessary for you all 
to sign, and, as you and the other children are not 
of age, your signatures would be of no value. 
The courts would have to be appealed to to ap- 
point a guardian for you. But the gang evidently 
think that if they get your signature, and that of 
your mother, they, can pass the deed off for genu- 


158 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


ine on some unsuspecting purchaser, without 
waiting for the other names.” 

“Have you any idea about why they are so 
anxious to get the land?” asked Larry. 

“Nothing, except I am sure there is some big 
move afoot in that part of town. It concerns the 
city, but what it is I can’t learn, though I’ve tried 
in all the ways I know. I’m only afraid some 
other paper will find out before I do, and get a 
beat on me as well as spoiling our chance to get 
the deed back. But that’s one of the risks you 
take in this business.” 

“Then the only thing to do is to wait?” asked 
Larry. 

“That’s all.” 

It was three days after this that a strange let- 
ter came, addressed to Larry. And* an odd 
enough one it was. Instead of the address being 
written, or printed by hand, or on a typewriter, 
the name, number, and street had all been cut 
from some paper or book, and pasted on the en- 
velope. It was a slow and laborious piece of 
work, and the persons who sent it must have had 
plenty of time at their disposal. At first Larry 
thought it was a joke. 

But when he had opened the envelope, and 
taken out the single sheet of paper it contained, 
he was sure it was no joke, but something quite 
different. 

“Phew!” he whistled, softly. 

The words in the letter had been cut separately 


A QUEER LETTER 


159 


from a newspaper, and pasted one after another 
to make sentences. 

“This is odd/’ thought Larry. “I wonder why 
anyone who wanted to write me a letter could 
not do it in the usual way. This was a lot of 
work.” 

But when he had read the missive through he 
was more puzzled than ever. It seemed to be 
nothing but a lot .of words jumbled together. 
There was no sense to it. 

“If it was Valentine's day, I’d think someone 
was sending me a new-fashioned kind,” thought 
Larry. “But as it is, I guess it's a Chinese puz- 
zle.” 

Once more he read the letter through slowly. 
This is what he saw : 

“Xp impossible the suddenness boy forever 
who nevermind found whatever the inexperi- 
enced paper delivery with upside blue showcase 
marks satin we lace give devoted you steam one 
furnace week pencil to ink make Hudson up ever 
your Brazil mind pig after cows that fencerail 
look evidently for concise the farm loss . plow of 
cart the automobile small steamboat one teapot 
who stove bears umbrella the typewriter name 
ribbon of door a couch martyred dog president 
lamp he seemingly will purpose be desire taken 
curtain from when you deliberate when always 
you regular least sat expect train sign doormat 
deed impossible at tiger once.” 


160 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“Well, if that isn’t foolish, I’d like to know 
what is,” remarked Larry. 

The oftener he read it the stranger it seemed. 
Then he turned it upside down, and tried to read 
it backward, but it was as bad one way as the 
other. 

“I guess I’ll throw it away,” he remarked. 
“No, I’ll save it, and show Mr. Newton,” he said, 
on second thought. “Maybe some of the fellows 
in the office sent it to me for fun. He’ll proba- 
bly know about it.” 

The next morning he took the strange letter 
to the office with him, having said nothing to his 
mother about it, for fear she would worry. 

“She’d say it came from the Black Hand so- 
ciety, or the Mafia,” he thought, as the papers 
were full of stories concerning these blackmail- 
ers. 

“Any news?” asked Mr. Newton, when he 
greeted Larry. 

“Nothing special,” replied the lad. “Someone 
has been having a little fun with me, I guess.” 

“How?” 

Larry produced the oddly-constructed letter, 
and gave it to Mr. Newton. At first the older 
reporter glanced carelessly at it. Then he looked 
more carefully over it, and a puzzled look came 
into his face. 

“Can you make any sense out of it?” asked 
Larry. 

“Well, not exactly. That is, not right away.” 


A QUEER LETTER 


161 


“Do you mean you ever expect to be able to?” 

“I might.” 

“But it’s all nonsense. Just as if I took a lot 
of words at random, and jotted them down. It 
reads as good backwards as it does frontwards.” 

“Of course it does. That’s the way they in- 
tended.” 

“Who intended ?” 

“The persons who sent you this cipher mes- 
sage.” 

“Is this a cipher?” 

“It certainly is, and it’s evidently a very easy 
one, or the gang would never have sent it. They 
evidently want to scare you a bit.” 

“Do you think the gang that stole the deed 
sent this?” 

“I certainly do.” 

“And can you read what’s in it?” 

“Not at once, but I’m going to try. They’re 
laughing at us, Larry, but we’ll laugh at them 
soon. Now to solve this cipher.” 


CHAPTER XX 


SOLVING THE CIPHER 

Much as he would have liked to go to work 
on it at once, Mr. Newton was obliged to postpone 
his beginning of solving the problem. There 
were a number of stories he had to go out on, and 
Larry, likewise, was kept busy. It was late in the 
afternoon when they found a chance to speak of 
the strange letter again. 

“I tell you what,” said Mr. Newton, “supppse 
you come over to my house this evening, and 
we’ll tackle the cipher. It may be important for 
us to solve it as soon as possible.” 

“I’ll come,” said Larry. 

Mr. Newton lived in a sort of bachelor hotel. 
He had several rooms, and when Larry called 
that evening, he found his friend seated at a large 
table, on which were spread out a number of 
sheets of paper, several pencils, and some books. 
In the center of the table was the cipher letter 
Larry had received, which he had given Mr. New- 
ton that afternoon. 

“Are you making any headway?” asked Larry. 

“Not very much,” confessed Mr. Newton. “I 
have been studying the thing, trying to see where 
to start. Take a look at it yourself, and see if 
162 


SOLVING THE CIPHER 


163 


it suggests anything to you. Two heads are bet- 
ter than one, any day.” 

Larry puzzled pver the paper for several min- 
utes, but was obliged to admit that the more he 
looked at it the more of a puzzle it became. 

“What sort of a cipher is it, anyhow?” he 
asked. “What is a cipher? I’ve often heard of 
them, but I never saw one before.” 

“A cipher is merely a message from one per- 
son to another,” said Mr. Newton. “It is writ- 
ten in such a way as to prevent any third per- 
son, in whose hand it may fall, from learning 
the contents. Each of the persons in the secret 
has a key to the cipher. 

“There are simple ciphers and elaborate ones. 
There is one used by the United States war and 
other officials that is very elaborate, and when 
messages are sent in it, there is a lot of work get- 
ting at the real meaning. That is done to pre- 
vent enemies learning what the message contains. 

“But I do not suppose this cipher is very diffi- 
cult. The trouble is, it is so simple that it is puz- 
zling. I have tried a number of methods used on 
fairly hard ciphers, but I can make nothing of it.” 

“What in the world do you suppose they wrote 
in cipher for, anyhow?” asked Larry. 

“To try and scare you a bit, I reckon. The 
more mystery they throw around it the worse 
they think they have you frightened.” 

“How have you tried to solve it?” 

“Well, first I went on the supposition that it 


164 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


was a letter cipher. That is, that you must pick 
out certain letters in each word, and then put 
them together to make sense. I tried several dif- 
ferent methods on this line, but all I get is a lot 
of words as meaningless as those in the cipher.” 

“What are you going to do next?” 

“I’m going to take out all the words that seem 
to have any bearing on our matters. I’ll set them 
down, and try to make sense of them.” 

Accordingly, with Larry to help, Mr. Newton 
wrote down the following : blue, marks, ink, 
farm, door, and deed. 

“Those are all that I see that concern us di- 
rectly,” he said. “There is ‘blue,’ for the blue- 
handed man ; ‘marks,’ which he had on his hand ; 
‘ink,’ which might refer to Mr. Hosfer’s at- 
tempts; ‘farm,’ which certainly refers to you; 
‘door,’ which is what had the blue mark on it 
when I went into Chinatown; and ‘deed,’ which 
is what we’re after. Now we’ll see if I can get 
anything out of them.” 

Mr. Newton tried by combining various letters 
in each word to get a meaning from the cipher. 
It was of no avail. Then he started on still an- 
other method. 

This was to string all the words together so 
they formed a meaningless jumble of letters. 

“Now we’ll go along and take every second let- 
ter regardless of the words they are in,” he said. 

He did this, and after making several selec- 
tions, he had this as a result : 


SOLVING THE CIPHER 


165 


OMOSBEHSDENSBYOEEW. 

“That’s no go,” he announced, after staring at 
the combination. That would never make sense. 
I’ll try every third letter.” 

This time he got: 

IOIEEDNSOO. 

“Stuck again,” he commented. “Too many 
vowels to get any words that would mean any- 
thing out of that.” 

However, he was not discouraged. He tried 
the same plan, using respectively the fourth to 
the tenth letter in the conglomeration. But each 
time he had to admit defeat. 

“It gets me,” said Mr. Newton, at length. “If 
I could only stumble on one or two words I think 
I could find out the system. The rest would be 
easy.” 

“Have you tried taking every seventh word?” 
asked Larry. “We boys in the country used to 
consider seven a lucky number.” 

“We’ll try it, just for luck, then,” spoke Mr. 
Newton. He quickly set down every seventh 
word, and had this result when he had gone a lit- 
tle way: 

WHO DELIVERY WE FURNACE UP 
COWS THE AUTOMOBILE. 

“That’s odd,” commented Mr. Newton. “We 
can make a sentence of that anyhow. Listen: 
‘We, the furnace who deliver up automobile 
cows,’ though it doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Try some other way of taking the words,” 


166 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

went on Larry. “Maybe we’d better begin at the 
end, and work up.” 

“Well, we’ll try your plan for a change,” 
agreed Mr. Newton. “Take every seventh word 
from the end. This is what we get : ‘Sign be dog 
name teapot of evidently,’ and so on. Not much 
to that.” 

Then, in very weariness he and Larry sat star- 
ing at the paper which they felt sure contained 
a hidden message for them. 

“Let’s give it up,” suggested Larry. “If they 
want to send us any word let them do it in the 
right way.” 

“No, I’m not going to give up so easily,” said 
Mr. Newton. “I’ll have another try at it. Hand 
the cipher over.” 

Larry, who had been scanning the mysterious 
paper, passed it across the table to Mr. Newton. 
To do so he had to move it in front of a drop 
gas lamp. As the paper came between Mr. New- 
ton’s eyes and the light the reporter gave a sud- 
den cry. He fairly grabbed the paper from 
Larry, and looked at it closely. He seemed some- 
what disappointed. Then he held it up to the 
light again. 

“Did you put those marks on this?” he asked 
of Larry. 

“No, what marks?” 

“These tiny dots on the back.” 

“I haven’t touched the cipher,” said Larry, 
wondering what Mr. Newton meant. 


SOLVING THE CIPHER 


167 


“Then I think I have it solved !” exclaimed 
the reporter. “I wonder I didn’t think of this 
before. Come here!” 

Larry came around to that side of the table. 
He looked through the half-transparent cipher, 
and saw below certain of the words a small, black 
dot. The dots were made on the back of the docu- 
ment, and only showed through when it was held 
to the light. 

“We’re on the track at last!” cried Mr. New- 
ton. “Here, Larry, you write down the words 
I call off.” 

Then, with fingers that trembled so he could 
scarcely hold the pencil, Larry set this down : 

“To the boy who found the paper with blue 
marks, we give you one week to make up your 
mind. after that look for the loss of the small 
one who bears the name of a martyred president^# 
he will be taken from you when you least expect, 
sign deed at once.” 

“What does that mean?” asked Larry. 

“We’ll soon see. The first sentence is easily 
enough set off. ‘To the boy who found the pa- 
per with blue marks.’ You see, they have simply 
used every other word in the cipher. It was so 
easy it was hard. Now, then, we’ll go on. ‘To 
the boy, etc.,’ that means you. The next sen- 
tence reads : ‘We give you one week to make up 
your mind.’ The rest reads, properly punctu- 


168 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


ated: ‘After that, look for the loss of the small 
one who bears the name of a martyred President. 
He will be taken from you when you least ex- 
pect. Sign deed at once.’ ” 

“What does that mean about the small one 
bearing the name of a martyred president?” 
asked Larry. 

“First consider who were the martyred presi- 
dents,” suggested Mr. Newton. 

“Well, there were Abraham Lincoln, James A. 
Garfield, and William McKinley,” replied Larry. 

“Is there anyone in your family with either of 
those names?” 

“Let me see — of course — there’s Jimmy — 
James. But why do they refer to him?” 

“That’s the point,” replied Mr. Newton, “why 
do they? I wish they had not.” 

“Why?” 

“Because this looks as if they meant to make 
trouble, and force you to do what they want. It 
is nothing more nor less than a threat to kidnap 
your little brother.” 

“Kidnap Jimmy?” 

“That’s what they practically threaten unless 
you sign the deed.” 

“But how can they kidnap persons in New 
York, with so many police around?” 

“Haven’t you read enough in the papers of 
late how it is done?” answered Mr. Newton. “It 
is very easy, especially for some Italian gang. I 
would be on my guard if I were you, and tell 


SOLVING THE CIPHER 


1G9 


your mother to have an eye out for Jimmy at all 
times. But don’t scare her.” 

“What good would it do if they did take 
Jimmy?” 

“You’d find out soon enough,” answered Mr. 
Newton. “How long do you suppose you would 
refuse to sign, or your mother — how long do you 
think she would refrain from signing, if she 
knew by doing so she could get Jimmy back? 
We are fighting a desperate gang, I’m afraid, and 
we’ll have to be on our guard. Be careful of 
every move, be suspicious of all strangers, and 
keep a lookout for the blue-handed man.” 

“Can’t we notify the police?” 

“Oh, we could, but it would be worse than 
useless. In the first place we have nothing but 
suspicions and vague threats. The police could 
not act on them. Besides you couldn’t have a 
bluecoat detailed to watch Jimmy all the while.” 

“I wonder what we had better do,” mused 
Larry, who was much alarmed . over the turn 
things had taken. 

“We have several days yet,” said Mr. Newton. 
“They give us a week to make up our minds. In 
that time something may turn up. We’ve done 
enough work for to-night. Let’s rest until to- 
morrow.” 

So, with his brain filled with thoughts of the 
possibility of Jimmy’s being kidnapped, and pon- 
dering over the strange web he was being tangled 
up in, Larry went home. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE GAS EXPLOSION 

It was with no very easy mind that Larry 
started for work next morning. Before he left 
for the office he warned his mother to keep her 
eye on Jimmy. 

“What for?” asked Mrs. Dexter. 

“Because there’s been a lot of automobile acci- 
dents in the streets lately,” replied Larry. “I 
don’t want Jimmy to get hurt.” 

“I can beat an auto running!” cried the little 
fellow, who overheard his brother’s warning. 

“Well, you’d better not try it,” said Larry. 
“You might win the first time, if the auto wasn’t 
going very fast, but the next time the machine 
would beat you, Jimmy, and knock you down, 
and roll you over in the mud, and, maybe, if it 
was a very bad auto, it would make your nose 
bleed.” 

“Then I’ll be careful,” promised Jimmy, with 
rather a frightened look on his face. “I’ll stay 
close to the house.” 

Satisfied that he had frightened him sufficiently 
to make his little brother keep his promise Larry 
went to work. All the morning, however, his 
thoughts were more on the threatening cipher he 


THE GAS EXPLOSION 


171 


had received, and on the possibility of Jimmy be- 
ing kidnapped, than they were on his assign- 
ments. Every time the reporters came in from 
police headquarters Larry was afraid lest they 
bring in a story of a little boy having been stolen. 

But, as the morning wore on, and there was 
no bad news, Larry began to feel more relieved, 
and he began to think the threat was an idle one, 
after all. Still, he recalled that the week was not 
yet up. He found a chance to talk with Mr. 
Newton in the course of the day. 

“Don’t you think I’d better agree to sign the 
deed?” he asked. 

“What’s the matter, getting frightened about 
that cipher?” asked Mr. Newton. 

“A little.” 

“Well, Larry, I don’t want you to do anything 
you will worry over. If you think you had better 
play into the hands of the gang, in order to pre- 
vent the possibility of them kidnapping your 
brother, don’t let me stop you. All you have to 
do is to insert a notice to that effect in the pa- 
pers. They are probably watching for it.” 

“Do you honestly think they’ll try to kidnap 
Jimmy?” asked Larry. 

“No, I don’t. It would be a pretty serious 
thing for them to do, mixed up as they are in 
other crimes. I don’t believe Jimmy is in any 
danger.” 

“Then I’ll not sign,” decided Larry. “Lll 
show them I’m not afraid!” 


172 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


It was shortly after one o’clock, and the first 
edition had gone to press. There had not been 
much news, local or foreign, since morning, and 
the reporters and editors were taking it a little 
easy. 

It was a warm afternoon in early September, 
and the haze in the air indicated the approach of 
a storm. 

“It would be just like something to break loose 
now,” observed one of the reporters, who was 
lazily lounging on a table, puffing at a. corncob 
pipe. “It was just like this one afternoon when 
that big railroad wreck occurred. We thought 
we were never going to get any news that day, 
when all at once we had more than we could 
handle. That’s always the way when ” 

“Boom !” A dull but powerful explosion 
sounded through the open windows, startling the 
reporters, and causing the one who was speaking 
to break off suddenly in his talk. 

“Something went up that time,” exclaimed 
Mr. Newton. 

“Are they blasting anywhere around here?” 
asked the city editor. 

“No,” several replied. “That’s an explosion 
of some sort. Can’t be down at one of the forts, 
as it sounded too near.” 

“Look out that window!” exclaimed Larry, 
pointing at one that opened on the north side of 
the office. “See the smoke!” 

A dark pall of vapor, like an immense cloud, 


THE GAS EXPLOSION 


173 


overhung a portion of the city, seemingly about 
a mile away from the office. 

“It’s one of the gas tanks !” cried Mr. Newton. 

Just then the automatic fire alarm in the of- 
fice, which was connected with the regular city 
system, began to tap the bell with quick, impa- 
tient strokes. There was dead silence in the room 
while all counted the number of the box. 

“It’s 313!” exclaimed a reporter. “That’s the 
gas works — private box !” 

“Newton, you and Larry with Smith and Rob- 
inson, jump out on that, quick!” exclaimed Mr. 
Emberg, grabbing for the telephone on his desk. 
“’Phone the story in !” he added. “We’ll get out 
an extra if we have to !” 

While he was giving these orders, which the 
four reporters, including Larry, obeyed at once, 
the city editor was getting into communication 
with the art department on the floor below. 

“Send a photographer up to the gas works!” 
he called. “Big explosion there. Try and get 
a picture for the last edition!” 

He hung up the receiver with a bang. 

“Anderson, you get ready to take the story 
over the telephone!” Mr. Emberg went on. 
“You’ll have to grind it out lively!” 

Anderson got several pencils ready, arranged 
his typewriter with a long roll of paper in it, to 
avoid the necessity of changing sheets when he 
began to write, and sat down in front of a tele- 
phone that was in a booth, where a small table 


174 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


offered a chance to write out the notes he would 
take when the story began coming in. 

“ Jackson, call someone on the ’phone near the 
gas works, and see if you can get a line on how 
bad it is. We’ll issue a bulletin. Sneadly, get 
ready to call up the City and St. Elmo’s hospi- 
tals as soon as the victims have had a chance to 
get there. There’s where they’ll probably take 
’em, because they are the nearest places.” 

In a few minutes what had been a quiet office 
was transformed into a hive of activity. The 
reporters were assigned to their tasks, and those 
in the city room stood with tense nerves waiting 
for the first news that might tell of a frightful 
disaster. Mr. Emberg, like a general planning 
for battle, had posted all his forces where they 
could do the best and quickest work. 

Suddenly Jackson, who had gone to the ’phone 
to call up someone near the scene, cried out : 

“It’s a bad one, all right!” 

“Who are you talking with?” asked Mr. Em- 
berg. 

“I’ve got a party on the wire who lives about 
a block away. He says all the windows in the 
neighborhood are broken.” 

“I don’t care for the windows!” broke in Mr. 
Emberg. “What do they amount to? Is any- 
one killed? Find that out, if you can, and tell 
what happened.” 

Jackson listened to what the man at the other 
end of the wire was saying. Then he called out : 


THE GAS EXPLOSION 


175 


“Some men were cleaning out a tank that had 
been emptied of gas! Some gas leaked in, and 
the thing went up ! He says he saw a number of 
bodies thrown away up into the air, and the re- 
port is that seven men are killed.” 

Before Jackson had ceased speaking Mr. Em- 
berg was writing out a bulletin to be posted out- 
side the office, giving a mere statement of the acci- 
dent, and announcing that details would be found 
in the next issue of the Leader . 

An instant later the telephone rang again. 

“Answer that, Anderson!” the city editor ex- 
claimed. “That’s probably Newton on the wire. 
Write fast, tell him to talk fast, and make short 
sentences. We only have a few minutes for the 
second edition.” 

The city editor proved to be a good guesser. 
It was Mr. Newton at the other end of the wire, 
and he had a partial story. 

Briefly told, the accident was that a dozen men 
went into one of the big gas-holders to clean from 
the bottom an accumulation of oil that prevented 
a free flow of the vapor from the outlet pipe. Be- 
fore the men entered through a small manhole 
in the top, all the gas had been drawn off. 

That is, it was supposed all the vapor was out, 
but more either leaked in, or some was generated 
by the oil in the bottom of the holder. At any 
rate there was some vapor in the tank. One of 
the men was using his shovel to scrape some of 
the dirt from the sides of the holder, when his 


176 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


implement must have struck sparks from the iron 
side of the tank. 

There was a terrific explosion that tore the big 
tank apart as if it was made of paper, and the 
dozen men inside were hurled high into the air 
when the top blew off. 

As soon as possible men from other parts of 
the works ran to aid the unfortunates. Six of the 
men had fallen back into the tank, and were ly- 
ing on the bottom. Four had been scattered 
about the yard, two badly wounded, and two 
dead. 

It was this scene that confronted Larry, Mr. 
Newton, and the other reporters when they 
reached the gas plant. A big crowd had collected, 
summoned by the sound of the explosion, the 
sight of the big smoke-cloud, and the rush of the 
fire apparatus. For the latter there was no need, 
as after the first terrible burst of flame from the 
tank, there was no more blaze. 

However, the firemen with their laders were 
soon called on for service. The two wounded 
men, who had been picked up and carried into 
the office, were now hurried to the hospital in 
the police ambulances that had answered the 
alarm. 

“We must get those men out of the tank!” the 
foreman of the works cried. “There may be 
some alive!” 

A score of men sprang forward as volunteers. 

“Bring the ladders!” shouted the chief of the 


THE GAS EXPLOSION 


177 


fire department, who always responded to an 
alarm from the gashouse district. 

The firemen ran up with them. Two were 
placed against the outside of the tank. Up them 
swarmed several of the “smoke-eaters,” as the 
firemen are sometimes called. They were pre- 
paring to lower other ladders down on the inside 
when they were forced to come away because of 
the gas fumes. 

Only for a little while, though, did they falter. 
Coming down they got their smoke-masks, made 
of fine wire sieves, with damp sponges placed in 
them. With these over their faces they prepared 
to brave death to rescue the men who might yet 
remain alive in the tank. 

Down into the shattered holder they went, half 
a dozen brave men. Into the slimy black oil on 
the bottom they dropped. Then, working quickly, 
that they might not be overcome by the fumes 
that still continued to accumulate in the tank, each 
fireman shouldered one of the unconscious forms. 
There was no way of telling the living from the 
dead until they were carried up, and then down 
the ladders to the ground. 

Swarming up the rungs with their burdens the 
six firemen came. When they reappeared over 
the edge of the tank they were met with a loud 
cheer. 


CHAPTER XXII 


A FAMILY HEIRLOOM 

Down to the ground the hapless burdens were 
carried. Doctors who had been summoned bent 
hastily over the motionless forms. Coats and 
jackets, dirty from the oil, were torn open, and 
skillful hands felt to see if hearts still beat. 

“This one’s alive ! Hurry him to the hospital !” 
cried a physician. The man was placed in an am- 
bulance, which set off, the horse galloping 
swiftly. 

The other five were past human aid, having 
been either burned to death in the sudden rush 
of flame, or suffocated as they fell back into the 
holder. 

“There were twelve men working in the tank !” 
cried the superintendent of the works, hurrying 
up to the chief of the fire department. “We have 
found only ten. Where are the other two?” 

A hurried search was made for the missing 
men. Larry joined in, as did Mr. Newton. 
There were several piles of lumber in the yard 
about the tanks, and behind one of these the bod- 
ies of the two unfortunate men were found. One 
was still breathing, and was hurried to the hos- 
pital. The other had expired. 

178 


A FAMILY HEIRLOOM 


179 


While these things had been going on Mr. 
Newton was not idle. As soon as he got any 
facts he ran to a telephone, and sent them in to 
the office, where Anderson was waiting for them. 
Larry, Smith, and Robinson aided in collecting 
the facts, sometimes turning them over to Mr. 
Newton, .or telephoning them in themselves, if he 
was busy. 

In this way the information of how the acci- 
dent occurred was obtained, and from officials in 
the office of the works the names of the men were 
secured. Meanwhile there were busy times in the 
Leader city room. 

Waiting until he had a fairly good and con- 
nected account of the accident, Anderson sat 
down to a typewriter, and began grinding out 
copy. He was a fast operator, and the way his 
fingers flew over the keys was a sight to behold. 
In short, crisp sentences, but in words that made 
a thrilling story, he rattled out the account. 

Near him stood Mr. Emberg. As fast as An- 
derson had a paragraph written the city editor 
would pull out the paper, and clip off what was 
written. Meantime Anderson, as soon as the 
paper ceased moving, went on writing. 

Mr. Emberg quickly edited the copy, and gave 
it to one of the messenger boys, who ran with it 
to the pneumatic tube that sent it to the compos- 
ing room. There men who operated the typeset- 
ting machines stood ready to set up the story. 

The reporter who had been detailed to call up 


180 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


the hospitals was soon in communication with 
them. He learned of the condition of the men 
as soon as the doctors had made an examination. 
One man died as he was being carried in. These 
facts were rapidly told to Anderson, who wove 
them into his story. When part of the account 
had been written, and sent to the composing room 
Mr. Emberg began making a heading for the 
story. 

It was to be a “horse head,” with plenty of 
black type, and covering a good section of the 
page. When part of this was written it was sent 
upstairs, and the editor continued to write out the 
remainder. Thus not a second was lost. 

In less than three-quarters of an hour from the 
time the explosion happened, the Leader was out 
on the street with a very good account of the ac- 
cident. In fact, before the firemen had dome 
away, having brought up from the tank the last 
body, newsboys were selling copies of the paper 
containing the story of the terrible happening, 
about the scene. It was good and quick work. 

By this time the photographer sent to make a 
view of the wrecked tank had returned to the of- 
fice, having made several exposures. In the dark- 
room the plates were developed. Prints were 
made. Then they were re-photographed; the 
other plates were put through a process, and the 
thin film that contains the image was removed 
from the glass, and put on a zinc plate. 

Acids were poured over this, and by the use of 


A FAMILY HEIRLOOM 


181 


certain chemicals the image on the film was trans- 
ferred to the zinc plate. This was quickly made 
ready, and mounted on a lead block. 

It was now almost time for the last edition. 
The story of the accident had been made much 
longer, for Larry, Mr. Newton, Smith, and Rob- 
inson were sending in new details. They were 
quickly set up, and the type was placed in the 
forms. The picture was also put into the place it 
was to occupy on the front page. 

Then the form was covered with wet papier- 
mache, which was pressed into the type while 
soft, and baked on by means of steam, under a 
heavy weight. When the “matrix,” as it is 
called, being a piece of cardboard with an exact 
reproduction of every letter in the type, or every 
line in the picture, was ready, it was rushed to 
the stereotyping department. There a lead plate, 
curved in a half-circle, was made from it, and this 
plate, with a dozen others, each one representing 
a page of the Leader, was clamped onto the 
presses. 

The machinery was adjusted, and the press 
started, the papers being printed at the rate of 
many thousands an hour. Thus the last edition 
came out, about two hours after the accident, 
with a picture of the scene, and the exploded 
tank. It was up-to-date newspaper work. 

“Well, I guess we’ve done about all we can 
to-day,” remarked Mr. Newton, addressing his 
helpers. “We’ve covered everything I can think 


182 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


of. I guess we beat some of the other papers. 
Haven’t seen any of them around here yet.” 

“It certainly was a bad accident,” remarked 
Larry, who had never before seen such a terrible 
one. 

“This isn’t so much,” spoke Smith. “You 
should have seen the one over on the Jersey 
meadows, when nineteen were killed by the train 
in the fog.” 

“That’s right,” replied Robinson. “That was 
something of an accident.” 

“I don’t want to see any worse than this,” 
said Larry. “This will last me for a while.” 

“Shall we go back now?” asked Smith. 

“I guess so,” responded Mr. Newton. “Tell 
you what you might do, Larry : get an interview 
with the head of the gas company. We can 
work it in to-morrow. Ask him how he accounts 
for the accident, have him explain how the gas 
could leak into the tank, and how a spark could 
be struck. It will be a good feature, if you can 
get him to talk.” 

So, while the others went back to the Leader 
office, Larry prepared to get an interview with 
the president of the gas concern. He inquired of 
the superintendent of the place, and found that 
the man he wanted to see was a Mr. Reynolds. 
Learning where his office was located, Larry went 
there. 

When he told the messenger who was stationed 
in the president’s anteroom that he was from the 


A FAMILY HEIRLOOM 


183 


Leader, the messenger grinned, as much as to re- 
mark that the president would not see reporters. 
But the lad came back with the information that 
Larry would be given a short interview. He was 
ushered into the president’s office. 

As soon as he caught a glimpse of him Larry 
wondered where he had seen Mr. Reynolds be- 
fore. Then it came back to him. This was the 
gentleman who had lost the valuable jewels 
which Larry had found hidden in the vacant lot 
one night. Mr. Reynolds, who was a rich banker, 
as well as head of the gas company, had paid 
Larry one thousand dollars reward for recover- 
ing the gems. 

“I ought to remember him,” thought Larry. 

“Well, what can I do for you?” asked Mr. 
Reynolds, in gruff tones, quite different, Larry 
thought, from the manner he had used in thank- 
ing him for the recovery of the jewels. 

The young reporter asked the questions Mr. 
Newton had suggested, and was given answers 
that explained how the explosion occurred. Mr. 
Reynolds claimed that it was no fault of the gas 
concern, and stated that the families of the vic- 
tims would be provided for. 

“It was a terrible occurrence,” said Mr. Reyn- 
olds, “and we regret it as much as anyone. We 
try to take every safeguard for our employees, 
but accidents will happen, sometimes, in spite of 
all our care.” 

Larry asked a few more questions, and was 


184 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

about to take his leave, when Mr. Reynolds, who 
had been looking at him rather sharply, inquired : 

“Where have I seen you before, young man?” 

“I brought back your jewels,” replied Larry. 

“Oh, yes, yes ! So you did ! I have been won- 
dering where I saw you. Well, you didn’t find 
any more of my diamonds, did you?” 

“No,” replied Larry. “Didn’t you get them all 
back?” 

“All of them,” repeated Mr. Reynolds. “I 
was only joking. Though, to be exact, we did 
not get all of them back. The thieves kept a 
valuable heirloom.” 

“What was it?” 

“It was a ring,” replied Mr. Reynolds, “in the 
shape of a snake, coiled around three times. For 
eyes it had two rubies, and in the end of the tail 
was a diamond. It was not very costly, but I 
valued it for its associations. It had been in our 
family for over two hundred years, and I would 
like very much to have kept it.” 

“Then it wasn’t in the box that I dug up?” 
asked Larry. 

“No trace of it, though it was taken with the 
other things the thieves carried off. By the way, 
they never found those thieves, did they?” 

“No,” replied Larry. 

“I suppose one of them took a fancy to my 
ring, and wore it himself, instead of hiding it 
with the rest of the booty,” mused Mr. Reynolds. 
“Well, if you ever should happen to come across 


A FAMILY HEIRLOOM 


185 


it, and you might, for you’re a lucky lad, I’ll pay 
you five hundred dollars.” 

“I’d be glad to find it for you without the re- 
ward,” Larry said. “But I’m afraid there’s lit- 
tle hope.” 

“Not much, I guess,” agreed Mr. Reynolds. 
“Now is there anything more you’d like to know 
about this terrible explosion?” 

“I guess I have everything I need,” answered 
the young reporter. “I’m much obliged to you.” 

“Not at all,” responded Mr. Reynolds. “I find 
it pays better to be perfectly frank with the news- 
papers. They’ll find things out, anyhow, and you 
might as well tell them first, and get it in right.” 

Larry went back to the office, where he wrote 
up his interview with Mr. Reynolds, in readiness 
for the next day’s paper. Then he went home. 

“I wonder if Jimmy’s been kidnapped,” thought 
the boy, as he neared his house. In the excite- 
ment over the explosion he had forgotten, for a 
while, the threats the gang had made. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


MYSTERIOUS NOTES 

Larry was quite relieved when he got to the 
house, and found that nothing unusual had oc- 
curred. He was tired from the day’s work, and 
his mind was full of the terrible scenes he had 
witnessed. Soon after supper he went to bed. 

Larry’s room opened out on a fire-escape. As 
it was warm he had his window open, though it 
made the room more noisy. Several times dur- 
ing the night he thought he heard someone mov- 
ing on the escape near his room, but he was too 
sleepy to get up and make an investigation. 

“If it’s burglars they’ll not get much here,” he 
thought, as he turned over, and went to sleep 
again. 

Larry awoke with a strange feeling that some- 
thing had happened. It was as if he had dreamed 
a nightmare, the thoughts of which still lin- 
gered with him. At first he thought it might be 
a foreboding that Jimmy had been captured by 
the gang during the night. He jumped out of 
bed, but, as he did so, he heard his brother’s 
voice in the next room and knew that the little 
chap was safe. 

“It’s all nonsense,” thought Larry to himself,. 

186 


MYSTERIOUS NOTES 


187 


as he began to dress. “I’m thinking too much 
about this. I’m getting to be as nervous and 
fidgety as a girl. I must go to work, and forget 
all about it.” 

He walked over to the bureau for his collar. 
As he picked it up his attention was attracted by a 
piece of paper pinned to the bureau cover. 

“That’s queer,” he remarked, “I don’t remem- 
ber putting that there. I wonder if I’m begin- 
ning to walk in my sleep, and write notes to my- 
self.” 

He unpinned the paper. It was folded several 
times, and when Larry had opened it, he saw 
printed in large letters this message : 

“FOUR DAYS MORE . BLUE HANDY 

Larry did not disguise from himself the fact 
that he was frightened. That the gang had not 
given up the matter, but was acting along the 
lines the members had laid down, seemed cer- 
tain. It showed also that they were keeping 
close watch of the time, and of Larry’s move- 
ments. 

“That must have been what the noises were I 
heard out on the roof,” Larry mused, as he fin- 
ished dressing. “They are certainly a bold band 
to come into my room at night, and pin this here. 
They ran the risk of being taken for burglars, 
and, though I haven’t a revolver to shoot, some- 
one who saw them on the fire-escape might put a 
bullet into them.” 


188 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


That he was being watched by a desperate 
gang, who had possession of his deed, and who 
would go to almost any length to accomplish their 
purpose, Larry had no doubt. He felt more than 
ever the necessity of guarding his little brother, 
yet he did not know how to do it. 

To speak to his mother, Larry felt, would 
only cause her so much alarm that it might make 
her ill, as her health was not very good. As for 
Jimmy he was too small to appreciate his danger, 
even if he had been told. The only thing to do 
was to make him believe in the danger of auto- 
mobiles, and have him keep close to the house. 

Yet even that might count for little, seeing that 
the members of the gang had shown that they did 
not fear to enter the house, giving no warning. 

“I wonder what I’d better do ?” thought Larry, 
conscious of the feeling that it was no easy task 
to be a lad pitted against a powerful band of men 
bent on doing him injury. “I’m almost willing 
to sign the deed, and let them have the property 
for the money they’ll give. Of course, it is noth- 
ing like what I believe it to be worth, but it would 
save a lot of trouble.” 

So convinced, at first, was he that this would 
be the best plan, that, before he finished dressing, 
he sat down, and began to write out an advertise- 
ment to “Blue Hand,” that he could put in the 
paper to give notice the deed would be signed. 

“No ! I’ll not do it !” decided Larry, suddenly. 
“I’ll bght ’em. We’ll see if they’ll dare to do as 


MYSTERIOUS NOTES 


189 


they say. I’m at a disadvantage, but I’ll do my 
best to get ahead of those fellows. I’ll not give 
in until they do something worse than leave notes 
in my room, anyhow.” 

Then, feeling better, now that he had made up 
his mind to fight, Larry finished dressing, and 
went to breakfast, as if getting mysterious notes 
during the night was not unusual. 

Larry’s first assignment when he reached the 
office was to get an account of a wedding that had 
occurred the night before. There are two assign- 
ments reporters hate to cover, weddings and 
obituaries, and Larry, in his brief experience, 
had come to feel much as did all other members 
of his profession about these things. But, just as 
a reporter never shrinks from danger in gettting 
a story for his paper (if he is a real reporter, and 
not a pretended one), so none of them ever “kick,” 
at least to their city editor, when they get a dis- 
agreeable assignment. 

Larry started off to get the wedding, which 
was that of persons fairly well known, or else the 
Leader never would have sent for it. Usually 
some of the women reporters on the paper at- 
tended to these society affairs, but at that time 
one of the women was away on vacation, and the 
other had double work to do, so the men had to 
help out, and much grumbling there was in con- 
sequence. 

“I don’t see what people want to get married 
for,” thought Larry, as he walked along the 


190 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


street where the house of the bride was located. 
“At least if they do, I don’t see why they want 
it in the papers. I’d rather cover an Anarchist 
meeting, than go where a lot of women will tell 
how the bride looked, and what she wore.” 

Thus talking to himself, Larry walked along, 
forgetting in his sense of injury to take note of 
the numbers of the houses. Suddenly his feet 
slid out from under him, and he went down on the 
sidewalk rather hard. 

He had stepped into a lot of rice that covered 
the flags for quite a distance, the small kernels 
making the stones very slippery. Larry picked 
himself up, and looked about to see if his undig- 
nified arrival in a sitting position had been ob- 
served by anyone. The street seemed deserted. 

“I guess this is where the wedding was,” he 
said. “This is some of the rice they threw at 
the bride for good luck. It was bad luck for me, 
though. Well, here goes,” and with that Larry 
walked up the steps, which were white with ker- 
nels, and rang the bell. 

To the girl who opened the door Larry stated 
his errand ; that he had come to get an account of 
the wedding. 

“Come in,” said the servant, a good-natured- 
looking Irish girl. “Did you hurt yourself?” 

“You mean just now?” 

“Yes, when you fell,” and she began to laugh 
at Larry. 

“Oh,” said the reporter, blushing at the re- 


MYSTERIOUS NOTES 


191 


membrance of his fall, “no, I guess not. Did you 
see me?” 

“I was at the window,” said the girl. “I 
couldn’t help laughing, you went down so sud- 
den.” 

“Well, I didn’t get a letter or a telegram to 
say it was about to happen, that’s a fact,” ad- 
mitted Larry, joining in the girl’s merriment. 

“Come in,” said the maid; “none of the family 
is up yet, but I guess Miss Clarice will soon be 
down, and she’ll give you all the particulars. It 
was a sweet wedding, to be sure, and the bride 
looked lovely.” 

“Um,” grunted Larry, beneath his breath. He 
was not particularly fond of lovely brides. He 
was shown into a large parlor, back of which 
was a drawing-room, and both apartments bore 
evidences of the previous night’s gayeties. Flow- 
ers were strewn about the floor, and there was 
rice over everything, while a number of old shoes 
were in one corner. 

“We haven’t cleaned up yet,” the girl said. “It 
was three o’clock when we got to bed.” 

She left Larry sitting alone in the darkened 
parlor, while she went about her duties. Larry 
sat there for half an hour. Then he began to get 
nervous. 

“I wonder if they’ve forgotten all about me,” 
thought the young reporter. “I’ve got something 
else to do besides sitting here waiting for some- 
one to come, and tell me about a wedding.” 


192 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


He gave a loud cough, to attract the attention 
of anyone who might be within hearing. 

“Oh, how you frightened me!” exclaimed a 
voice, and a tall, dark, and exceedingly pretty 
girl came into the room. “I didn’t know anyone 
was here.” 

“I’m from the Leader ,” said Larry, rising. “I 
came about the wedding.” 

“Oh, are you a real, truly reporter ?” asked the 
girl. 

“Well, I think I can say I am,” replied Larry. 

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to see a real re- 
porter,” the girl went on. “It must be a grand 
life. Think of seeing terrible fires, and big acci- 
dents, and writing about murders, and suicides, 
and battles, and sudden death, and — and all sorts 
of horrible, scary things! Oh, I would love to 
be a reporter, only papa will not hear of it. Did 
you ever see a drowned man?” 

“Several,” replied Larry, wondering what kind 
of a girl this was. 

“Oh, how lovely ! And did you ever see a real, 
live, truly, really murderer?” 

“Well, I have seen men in the Tombs, accused 
of murder, though they had not been convicted 
yet.” 

“Oh, how perfectly fascinating! I must get 
papa to let me be a reporter.” 

“About this wedding,” began Larry. “Could 
you ” 

“Oh, don’t let’s talk about weddings,” inter- 


MYSTERIOUS NOTES 


193 


rupted the girl. “They’re horrid, stupid things. 
Tell me something about what you report. And 
to think I’ve seen a real reporter, just as I’ve al- 
ways wanted to.” 

Larry agreed with her statement about wed- 
dings being stupid affairs, but he felt he was sent 
to get an account of one, and not to talk about 
himself. He was a little uncertain how to pro- 
ceed. 

“Were you ever at a fire?” the girl went on. 

“Several times,” replied Larry. “What is the 
bride’s name, if you please?” 

“Did the walls fall and crush anyone?” asked 
Larry’s questioner, paying no attention to what 
he said. 

“I think so. Can you tell me the groom’s 
name ?” 

“Were you ever in an explosion, Mr. Re- 
porter ?” 

“Well, close to one, once. Now about this 
wedding. I wish ” 

“Show me how you write stories,” the girl 
went on. “I think it must be perfectly lovely to 
write things for the paper? Do you think I 
could?” 

“I guess so,” replied Larry, in desperation. He 
did not know what to do, and did not wish to 
offend the girl, who was very pretty, and seemed 
much in earnest in her questions. But help came 
from an unexpected quarter. 

“Why, Clarice!” exclaimed a woman’s voice, 


194 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


as she came into the room. “I have been looking 
everywhere for you. What are you doing?” 

“I am giving the reporter from the Leader an 
account of the wedding,” replied Clarice, with a 
smile. 

“How far have you gone with it?” asked her 
mother. “If you do as you usually do, you have 
asked more questions than you have answered.” 

“I was only asking about a reporter’s life,” 
spoke the girl. “It’s perfectly lovely. They see 
murdered people ” 

“Clarice, you must not talk so !” exclaimed her 
mother. “Now, you run upstairs, and I’ll tell the 
young man about the wedding.” 

Pouting a little the girl went out, nodding and 
smiling at Larry. The bride’s mother then gave 
the young reporter a story of the ceremony. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE CIRCUS 

Larry got along all right as far as taking the 
name of the bride, that of the groom, the officiat- 
ing minister, and the attendants at the wedding 
ceremony was concerned. But when he came to 
take notes of the kinds of material in the dresses 
and the styles, he found himself helplessly at sea. 

“The bride’s dress was cut en traine” said Mrs. 
Loftus, the mother of the young woman who had 
been married. 

“I didn’t catch that about her dress being cut 
by a train,” said Larry. 

Mrs. Loftus laughed. 

“Oh, you poor boy!” she exclaimed. “It’s a 
shame to send you after a wedding. They ought 
to have a woman to describe the dresses. I don’t 
wonder things get in the paper wrong. Who 
could expect a man to tell about a woman’s 
dress? But I’ll explain it to you.” 

Then she kindly initiated Larry into the mys- 
teries of the feminine styles. She told him en 
traine meant that the dress had what old-fash- 
ioned persons called a “long trail,” which swept 
on the ground. She also told him how to spell 
such words as “mousselaine,” “peau de soie,” 
195 


196 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


‘‘crepe de Chine,” and other terms that described 
the different materials. 

With her help Larry did not make out so badly 
as he feared he would at first, but he was glad 
when he had all the facts, and could go back to 
the office to write them up. On his way out he 
saw Clarice peering over the balustrade at him. 

“Good-by, Reporter !” she called, with a merry 
laugh, and Larry, though not knowing exactly 
what to make of her questions, thought she was 
one of the nicest girls he had ever seen. 

He managed to turn out an account of the wed- 
ding, though it was not a very good one in his 
estimation. But Mr. Emberg did not seem to 
be very particular about it. 

“Hurry through with that, Larry,” he said. “I 
have something else for you.” 

So Larry finished by telling how the bridal 
couple had gone on a trip South, and turned his 
copy in at the city desk. 

“I’m up now,” he said, that being the reporter’s 
expressive way of notifying the city editor or his 
assistant that he is ready for another assignment. 

“I want you to go up to Madison Square Gar- 
den,” said Mr. Emberg. “The circus has come 
to town, and I want a good descriptive story of 
how the animals got in, what the men are doing 
in the way of getting the Garden into shape, some- 
thing about the freaks, and whatever else you see 
of interest. Make it a sort of special yarn, and 
do your best.” 


THE CIRCUS 


197 


That was an assignment any reporter would 
have been pleased to get, for though some of the 
Older men had done it for years, and there re- 
mained little or nothing that was new in it, still 
the spirit of the boy seemed to linger in them, 
and there were always plenty who were eager for 
the chance to “write up” the circus. 

Larry appreciated his chance, and determined 
to do his best. He soon arrived at the Garden, 
and found the place in great confusion. Hundreds 
of men were scattered about the huge place. 
Some were erecting the tiers of seats, others were 
constructing the rings or stages on which the 
performers would appear; while high in the air, 
near the roof of the immense amphitheater, men, 
looking like spiders, were in a web of ropes, ad- 
justing the trapezes. 

In one corner was a group of tumblers and 
acrobats going through their “stunts,” to keep in 
practice, for the show was to open in two days. 
On some of the trapezes the men and women were 
swinging about, and in one section of the Garden 
a troupe of Japanese contortionists and balancers 
were doing seemingly impossible feats. 

As Larry watched he saw a man in pink tights 
come out of a dressing-room, followed by several 
of the circus helpers. The performer went to 
where a trapeze swung high in the air. From 
the cross-bar there dangled a rope, which the man 
in tights grasped. Larry was near enough to 
overhear what was being said. 


198 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


‘Tm going to give ’em something new/’ he re- 
marked to a man with a long whip, who seemed 
to be a ringmaster. 

“What is it?” asked the man with the whip. 

“Watch me, and you’ll see.” 

Then the one in pink tights went up the rope 
hand over hand, with an ease that seemed sur- 
prising to Larry, who had often tried the thing 
at Campton, in his father’s barn, when, with 
other country boys, he had played circus. 

Reaching the trapeze, the man sat down on the 
bar, and began to swing to and fro. He seemed 
to be adjusting the ropes. Then he turned over 
backward, and swung by his knees, head down- 
ward. Working his body back and forth he 
caused the trapeze to sway rapidly to and fro, in 
a long swing. 

For several minutes this went on, until the 
trapeze was moving backward and forward, with 
its human burden, as far as possible. 

Suddenly the man in pink tights gave a loud 
cry just as he reached the highest point in a back- 
ward swing. Then, to Larry’s horror, and seem- 
ingly no less to the astonishment of the ring- 
master and the helpers, the man was seen shoot- 
ing downward, as if the ropes of the trapeze had 
broken. Larry was sure the man would be killed. 

But, just when it seemed that the man’s head 
would strike the ground, and he be terribly in- 
jured, the ropes suddenly became taut, and 
the performer’s downward course was checked, 


THE CIRCUS 


199 


though he continued to swing back and forth in 
large arcs. 

All at once he straightened up, and lightly 
leaped from the cross-bar. 

“What do you think of that for a hair-raiser ?” 
he asked. “Won’t that make ’em sit up and take 
notice some?” 

“It sure will,” replied the ringmaster. “I 
thought you were a goner. How did you manage 
that?” 

“I had the ropes on both sides shortened by a 
series of slip-knots,” the man in pink tights ex- 
plained. “Then, when I was swinging good and 
hard, I yanked the cord that held the first two 
knots in place. The weight of my body pulled 
the others out, and the rope began to lengthen, 
and you saw me come down. I had it calculated 
so that I would cease falling a little ways from 
the ground.” 

“It’s a good trick,” commented the ringmaster. 

Larry thought so, too, and wondered how men 
cared to risk their lives in such dangerous per- 
formances. If the rope should break when the 
man’s descent was so suddenly checked, he would 
surely be killed. 

Larry saw about all there was going on among 
the performers, and decided next to visit the ani- 
mal quarters. There he found a very lively place 
indeed. Some of the cages of wild beasts had 
just arrived from the train on which the circus 
came to New York, having been out on the road. 


200 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


The big wagons, containing lions, tigers, leop- 
ards, hyenas, giraffes, hippopotami, snakes, mon- 
keys, bears, and other denizens of the forest, 
plain, or desert were rolled into place, either by 
horses pulling them, or by the elephants pushing 
them. 

Larry was quite surprised to see how these 
huge and seemingly unwieldy and clumsy crea- 
tures were made to perform hard work. They 
were useful as well as being ornamental, from a 
showman’s standpoint. Putting their big heads 
against a wagon or truck that would take the 
strength of eight horses, one elephant would 
shove it into place with ease, two men at the 
tongue directing its course. 

Larry found the head animal man, who gave 
the young reporter some facts to use in his story 
for the paper, and related a few incidents of the 
recent trip. 

While the cage of lions was being put into 
place there came from it a terrifying roar. It 
seemed to shake the very ground. 

“Old Nero isn’t feeling in the best of spirits,” 
said the animal trainer. “He’s got a bad tooth 
that pains him, and he’s as ugly as they come. I 

hope nothing happens. If he got out ” The 

showman shrugged his shoulders in a way that 
told more than words. 

“Look out, there!” he cried, suddenly, to the 
men who were guiding the pole of the cage con- 
taining Nero. “You’ll run into that post if you 


THE CIRCUS 


201 


don’t look out. There you go ! Call to that ele- 
phant to stop pushing, somebody!” yelled the 
trainer, for a huge elephant was shoving the lion’s 
cage into place. 

The men at the guiding pole had slipped, and 
the cage was headed straight for a big iron 
pillar. 

The next instant there was a crash of splinter- 
ing wood, and the cage ran full tilt into the col- 
umn. 

“Lookout, everybody !” the trainer cried. 
“Nero’s cage is open! Get the hot irons ready, 
in case he’s loose !” 

The elephant ceased pushing now, and backed 
up a few paces. From the cage came a roar 
more terrible than any that had preceded it, and, 
as if awakened by a call to battle, all the other 
wild beasts began to utter their cries, so that the 
Garden sounded like a section of a South African 
jungle. 

Suddenly a tawny yellow streak shot out of 
the lion’s cage, launched itself through the air, 
and landed on the elephant’s back. 

“Nero’s out!” yelled the trainer. “Lay low, 
everybody !” 

The roars of the maddened beast had turned to 
angry growls. It crouched low on the back of 
the huge elephant, sinking its claws into the 
brute’s hide. The pachyderm trumpeted loudly 
in pain and terror. 

A group of trainers and helpers huddled to- 


202 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


gether in a space made by several cages. The men 
were afraid to run, for fear of attracting the at- 
tention of the lion to themselves. 

“Here!” cried the head trainer. “Fll get the 
hot irons ! If he comes this way fire this revolver 
at him. It’s only got blanks in it, but it may scare 
him back to his cage. Only the door is broken. 
If we get him in we can scare him into remain- 
ing there.” 

Then throwing a big revolver down on the 
sawdust, the trainer ran to where the irons were 
heating. At that instant the lion leaped from the 
elephant’s back, and came straight at the men. 
Not one stayed to see what would happen next, 
but fled in a hurry. Nor did anyone pick up the 
revolver. 

Larry, who had been standing near the head 
trainer, saw the lion coming. His first thought 
was to flee, but he hardly knew which way to 
turn, as he had never been in the Garden before, 
and did not know where safety was. Then, 
hardly knowing what he was doing, Larry leaped 
forward, and grabbed the revolver. The lion 
was not twenty feet away, and was trotting 
straight at him, growling menacingly. 

“Fire at him! Fire at him!” cried the head 
trainer, who was at the far side of the quarters. 
He had grabbed two hot irons from the furnace, 
where they were kept in readiness for just such 
emergencies. 

The lion, seeing the boy standing in front of 


THE CIRCUS 


203 


him, crouched for a spring. Larry’s heart was 
beating like a triphammer, and his hand trembled 
so he could hardly hold the revolver. 

Then, like a streak of sunshine, the beast leaped 
for him. 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE LAST WARNING 

“Crack !” 

Larry fired the revolver. It was an automatic 
one, and all he had to do was to pull the trigger. 
Right at the face of the lion he aimed it, as the 
animal was in the air above him. 

“Crack! Crack! Crack!” 

Streaks of fire from the heavy cartridges shot 
in the direction of the beast. 

“Crack!” 

It was the last shot. As he fired it Larry 
leaped to one side to escape the lion’s claws. Then 
he cast the revolver at the beast, and fled. 

But there was no need of this. Cowed by the 
streaks of flame, and the noise of the reports, the 
brute, who had been only slightly wounded, had 
no sooner landed on the sawdust, than, with tail 
between its legs, it started back toward the cage it 
had left. 

“Chase after him, some of you fellows!” 
shouted the head trainer. “His nerve’s gone now. 
That boy has more sense and grit than the whole 
lot of you !” 

Now that the danger was practically over, the 
attendants ran back, and toward the lion’s wagon. 

204 


THE LAST WARNING 


205 


The brute, though still growling and roaring, had 
leaped into its broken cage, where it stood crouch- 
ing in one corner. 

“Quick, now; wheel another cage up in front 
of the broken one !” the trainer exclaimed. “That 
will hold him until we can fix his.” 

This was soon done, and all further danger 
was past. 

“I’m much obliged to you,” the trainer said, 
coming up to Larry, having taken the hot irons 
back. “It was a nervy bit of work.” 

“I guess if I’d stopped to think I’d never have 
done it,” replied Larry. 

“That’s all right, my lad, and it was well done, 
just the same. If Nero had gotten loose, the way 
he’s feeling now, and once got the taste of human 
blood, there’s no telling what might have hap- 
pened.” 

The trainer drew a pad from his pocket, and 
wrote a few lines on it, handing the paper to 
Larry. 

“What’s this?” asked the reporter. 

“It’s a pass for you and any friend you want 
to bring along, to come and see the show,” the 
trainer replied. “It’s good for two box seats at 
any performance, and as often as you like to 
come.” 

“I don’t believe I’d better take it,” said Larry. 
“I didn’t stop the lion for pay, and besides the 
office might not like it.” 

“Don’t let that worry you,” responded the 


206 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


trainer. “I know what you mean; you don’t 
want to ‘graft’ the way a lot of fellows do who 
think they’re newspaper men. But that is all 
right. A real newspaper man never grafts, but 
this pass isn’t graft. We always send the news- 
papers lots of tickets, anyhow. It’s part of our 
advertising contract. This is simply an extra 
one for yourself, as a sort of recognition for what 
you did, though it doesn’t begin to pay for the 
trouble you saved us.” 

“If you think it’s all right I’ll take it,” Larry 
answered. 

“Of course it is. Come to the show, and see 
Nero go through his paces.” 

Men by this time had come up to repair the 
broken cage, and with a nod of farewell, the 
trainer left Larry, as there were many things to 
attend to toward getting the circus into shape. 
Larry wandered about the big Garden, seeing odd 
little incidents that he made use of in his news- 
paper story. 

He found the manager in charge of the freaks, 
and introducing himself, Larry started to ask if 
there was anything new that might make a story. 

“Well, yes, here is a little item you might work 
in,” replied the manager, looking at Larry in 
what the reporter thought was a strange sort of 
way. “We’ve a romance on our hands.” 

“A romance?” 

“Yes, you see the living skeleton has gone and 
fallen in love with the fat woman.” 


THE LAST WARNING 


207 


“Really?” asked Larry, thinking the manager 
might be trying to “string” him. 

“Of course. Come out and have a talk with 
him. But that isn’t the worst. You see, the fat 
lady is smitten with the India rubber man, and 
the bearded lady has gone and fallen in love with 
the living skeleton, so you see, things are all 
mixed up. Come out into the freak room, and 
see for yourself.” 

Wondering whether to believe the story or not, 
Larry followed the manager. He found the 
freaks all sitting in one corner of the Garden, on 
a sort of raised platform. Sure enough the living 
skeleton was gazing with a sort of lorn expres- 
sion at the fat lady, who, in turn, was making 
eyes at the India rubber gentleman, who was prac- 
ticing stretching his neck until the skin of it al- 
most touched his forehead. The bearded lady, 
who was combing her whiskers every now and 
then, glanced in the direction of the living skele- 
ton, who was shivering, though the day was 
warm. 

“You can see for yourself,” spoke the manager, 
in a whisper. “Don’t make fun of ’em, if you 
write it up.” 

“I’ll be careful,” replied Larry, thinking he 
had found something that would fit in the circus 
story very well. 

Having about all the material he needed, and 
seeing that the hour was getting late, Larry de- 
cided to go back to the office. He found himself 


208 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


in quite a crowd of men and boys who were hang- 
ing around the entrance to the Garden, as he 
came out. He thought he felt a hand in the side 
pocket of his coat, as he worked his way through 
the throng, but, as he knew he had nothing of 
value in it, he decided, even if it was a pickpocket, 
he would not stop then to try to capture him. 
So he pressed on. He was just in time to catch 
a car for the office, and gave the incident no fur- 
ther thought. 

“Well, did you get a good story?” asked Mr. 
Emberg, as Larry entered the city room. 

“Pretty good; one of the lions got loose.” 

“Don’t let them work any press-agent yarns off 
on you,” cautioned the city editor, with a smile, 
for he was used to such stories from circuses. 

“This is true,” replied Larry. “I saw it my- 
self. In fact, I fired a revolver at Nero to drive 
him back.” 

“Was it Nero who was loose?” asked Mr. 
Newton, overhearing what Larry said. 

“That’s what they called him. He seemed 
ugly enough to be Nero.” 

“Then it’s no fake, if you saw Nero loose,” 
went on Mr. Newton. “He’s the worst lion in cap- 
tivity. That ought to be a good story.” 

“Why in the world didn’t you telephone it in ?” 
asked Mr. Emberg. “You might have been 
beaten by some of the early editions of the yel- 
lows. Hurry up, now, make that the feature of 
your story.” 


THE LAST WARNING 


209 


Somewhat chagrined over his failure to have 
appreciated the real news value of the lion inci- 
dent, Larry began to turn out copy as fast as he 
could write. Mr. Emberg read it. 

“You’re doing all right!” he called to Larry. 
“It is as good a circus story as we’ve had in a 
long time. Keep it up.” 

Larry told of everything in connection with 
the escape of Nero, and then began to describe 
the different scenes, including the way the Garden 
was being made ready for the crowds. By this 
time the first edition had gone to press. 

“Take your time, now,” said the city editor. 
“We’ll use the rest in the next edition.” 

“I’ve got a good story about the freaks,” said 
Larry, and he began to tell of the mixed-up ro- 
mance. 

He was interrupted by a burst of laughter, in 
which several reporters and Mr. Emberg joined. 

“It’s true ! I saw ’em myself,” exclaimed 
Larry. 

“Of course you did,” admitted Mr. Emberg. 
“It was gotten up for your benefit. The mana- 
ger sized you up for a new reporter, and thought 
the old story might go with you, though he must 
have known that no copy reader would have 
passed it.” 

“Isn’t it true ?” asked Larry, his faith in human 
nature somewhat shaken. 

“It’s one of the oldest press-agent’s yarns that 
ever did duty in a circus,” said Mr. Newton. “If 


210 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


there were any freaks in the Ark, and they had a 
press agent, he told that story to the first reporter 
who interviewed him when Captain Noah’s boat 
landed on Mount Ararat.” 

So Larry learned two things that day. One 
was that things old reporters think are fakes 
sometimes turn out to be true, and the other was 
that you can never believe a manager of the freak 
department of a circus. Both lessons were use- 
ful ones. 

When he went out to lunch, Larry put his hand 
into the side pocket of his coat. He felt an en- 
velope there, and thinking it was a letter which 
his mother might have given him to mail, and 
which he had forgotten, he pulled it out. He at 
once saw that it was no ordinary letter, for the 
envelope bore a large blue cross upon it. 

“Where did that come from,” thought Larry. 
He opened it. Inside was a small piece of paper, 
on which was printed : 

THREE DAYS MORE. BLUE HAND . 

“That was what the tugging at my coat in 
the crowd at the Garden meant,” reasoned Larry. 
“Some one of the gang must have been close to 
me. They must be* following me around, and 
keeping track of me wherever I go.” 

At first this thought alarmed him. It was un- 
pleasant to feel that someone was always look- 
ing at you, knowing your every movement so 
well that they could slip up, and drop notes into 


THE LAST WARNING 


211 


your pocket. Larry felt his courage leaving him. 
He half determined to agree to the gang’s wishes. 
Then, as he thought of what Mr. Newton had 
said, he grew braver, and decided to fight to the 
end. 

That night, going home, Larry was in quite a 
crowd on the elevated train. He tried to keep 
watch, and see if anyone dropped anything into 
his pockets, but the crowd was so dense that it 
would have been an easy matter for a person to 
approach him closely, and escape detection. 

So Larry was not greatly surprised, when, on 
reaching the street, he found another missive, in 
the same language. 

The same thing happened on two successive 
nights. Try as he did he could discover no one, 
however. He began to be quite nervous. A per- 
son who could steal up on him in a crowd, un- 
known to him, and drop letters into his pocket, 
was clearly a dangerous customer, Larry rea- 
soned. 

On Saturday night, as he left the train, he felt 
a suspicious tug at his coat pocket. He turned 
quickly, and caught a glimpse of a youth hurry- 
ing through the crowd. 

“If that wasn’t Peter Manton I’ll eat my hat,” 
thought Larry. 

He drew out the letter, which, in accordance 
with his expectations, he found. It read : 

THIS IS THE LAST WARNING. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


larry’s narrow escape 

Somehow, instead of being frightened at re- 
ceiving the ominous message thrust into his 
pocket in that mysterious manner, Larry felt a 
sense of relief. 

“Well, I’m glad they’re at the end of this warn- 
ing business,” he remarked to himself. “It was 
getting annoying. I’d rather do some real fight- 
ing, than all this sparring in the dark. If they’re 
going to do something let ’em do it, and not be 
hinting at it all the time. The suspense is worse 
than anything else.” 

As Larry hurried toward his home he could 
not help feeling a little bit worried lest some- 
thing had befallen Jimmy. The message seemed 
to indicate that the patience of the gang was ex- 
hausted, and that they would now proceed to act. 

Consequently Larry felt much relieved when 
he reached home, and found his brother and all 
the others safe. He was tired with his day’s 
work, and went to bed early. 

As next day was Sunday Larry decided he 
would take Jimmy for a trip to Central Park, to 
see the animals, and find some shady nook where 
212 


LARRY’S NARROW ESCAPE 


213 


he could take a rest, and make believe he was back 
in the country again. 

Larry thought that it might also serve a good 
purpose in foiling any ideas the gang might have 
of kidnapping Jimmy on that day. On Sundays 
the children generally went for a walk alone, and 
Larry was afraid that if they did so on this occa- 
sion, advantage might be taken of the chance. 

After breakfast Larry proposed the trip to 
Mary and Jimmy. Mrs. Dexter agreed to it, say- 
ing that if Larry would look after the younger 
children she and Lucy would go and visit a friend 
in Jersey City. Preparations for the trin were 
soon made, and Larry, with his brother and sis- 
ter, started off, Mrs. Dexter and Lucy taking an 
opposite direc^n. 

It was very fine in the park. The birds were 
singing in the trees, the sky was blue, and the 
grass was almost as nice as in the meadow in 
Campton, Larry thought. 

“It’s jest like the country!” exclaimed Jimmy, 
running, and turning a somersault on the turf, 
while Mary gave chase to a gray squirrel that 
seemed quite tame, and frisked about on the low 
branches of a tree. 

With the children Lar"y wandered about in 
various shady places, now and then sitting down 
to rest. There was a large crowd in the park, 
for the day was warm. 

“Let’s go and see the elephants an’ tigers,” 
suggested Mary, her eyes growing big with won- 


214 


LARRY DEXTER. , REPORTER 


derment in anticipation of the delights of view- 
ing the wild animals. 

“All right/’ assented Larry, who, though he 
would not admit it, had a keen desire himself to 
see the beasts. 

They / mused themselves by throwing peanuts 
to the elephant, and Jimmy insisted on giving a 
share of his to the hippopotamus. The nuts were 
so small, and the animal’s mouth so large, that 
it is doubtful if he even tasted them. 

It was while standing watching the elephants 
that Larry became conscious that someone was 
observing him and the children rather closely. A 
little behind him, as he turned, he could see a 
short, stout man, who seemed to be much inter- 
ested in the pachyderms. 

Larry was sure this man had been staring at 
him, but, try as he did, the young reporter could 
not remember where he had seen him before. 
As he turned back to look once more at the 
elephants, Larry noticed that the man’s eyes were 
turned toward Jimmy, who, in a new suit, was 
an attractive-looking little chap. 

“I wonder if he’s a kidnapper?” mused Larry, 
half inclined to laugh at his foolish fancies. “I 
must keep watch, and see if he follows us when 
we leave.” 

Larry gradually drew the children away from 
the elephant inclosure, and over to where the 
monkeys were housed. The reporter watched, 
but, though he was sure the man looked after 


LARRY’S NARROW ESCAPE 


215 


them, and noted where they went, he did not 
leave the spot where he was. 

Mary and Jimmy found much to amuse them 
in the house of the primates. The funny antics 
of the monkeys kept the crowd in roars of laugh- 
ter. Even Larry forgot about keeping his eye 
on Jimmy, and watched the odd contortions of the 
queer, half-human-looking beasts. 

Once again, however, he became aware of that 
strange feeling of being under observation. 
Looking around, he saw the same man behind 
them. Larry had no doubt now but that the 
fellow was following them. 

“Well, if he thinks that he’s going to kidnap 
Jimmy right from under my nose, he’ll find he’s 
barking up the wrong tree !” exclaimed Larry, 
as he put his arm around his brother. “All the 
same, I guess we’d better get out of here. Some 
others of the blue-handed man’s gang may be 
on the lookout for us, and I don’t care to have a 
fight.” 

They walked about the park a little while 
longer, and then, as they were getting hungry, 
decided to start for home. When they boarded a 
car Larry looked all about to see if he had been 
followed. There was quite a throng of people, 
and the reporter, though he was not quite sure, 
thought he saw the man who had stood near him 
in the elephants’ inclosure, and also in the mon- 
key house. The man, if he was the same one, 
was accompanied by a boy about Larry’s age. 


210 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“I’m almost sure that lad was Peter Manton,” 
thought Larry. “There’s something underhanded 
about this whole thing. I wish I could find out 
what it is, and break up the gang.” 

Larry, with the children, reached home before 
Mrs. Dexter and Lucy returned. As Mary and 
Jimmy were hungry, Larry began foraging in the 
cupboard to find something to give the young- 
sters. 

As he took the cover off a dish in the pantry, 
to see what the receptacle contained, Larry saw 
a paper in it. 

“That don’t look good to eat,” he remarked, 
as he unfolded it. He gave a start, as he saw a 
big blue cross on it, while, in bold characters, 
was printed : 

DO NOT THINK WE HAVE FORGOTTEN. 

“They’ve been here since we went away this 
morning,” thought Larry. “They entered the 
rooms, and left this note. They must be keep- 
ing a close watch on the house, to know when we 
all go out, or else they would not venture to come 
in.” 

That night Larry called on Mr. Newton. He 
told the reporter all about the Sunday adventures, 
including that part about the man, and the find- 
ing of the note. 

“Don’t lose your courage,” advised Mr. New- 
ton. “It begins to look now as if they were only 


LARRY’S NARROW ESCAPE 


217 


bluffing. Maybe it was all a bluff. Still, don’t 
be too careless.” 

“Then there’s nothing we can do?” asked 
Larry, on whom the strain was beginning to tell. 

“No, I think not.” 

Rather encouraged by the sensible view Mr. 
Newton took of it, Larry went home, and slept 
soundly — so soundly, in fact, that he did not get 
up in time, and was a little late at the office. 

“Here’s an assignment for you, Larry,” called 
Mr. Emberg. “They’re pulling down a big brick 
chimney at the old electric light power-station 
to-day. Going to loosen the base by dynamite, 
I understand. I want you to get a good story of 
it. I’ll send a photographer with you to get a 
picture of it as it topples over.” 

Larry was soon on his way to the scene of the 
demolition, accompanied by the photographer. 
The chimney was a very tall one, and was con- 
sidered unsafe, as part of the power-house had 
been destroyed by fire some time before. 

Quite a crowd of persons were on hand to wit- 
ness the operations, as word of what was in- 
tended had spread through the neighborhood. 
There were also several other reporters there, and 
one or two photographers. Larry found the fore- 
man in charge of the work, and asked him to ex- 
plain the plan, so as to get a good understanding 
of it when he should write the story. The fore- 
man went into details about putting a small 
charge of dynamite under one corner of the stack. 


218 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


“The force of dynamite is mainly downward,” 
he stated. “But we think there will be enough 
upward power to the blast to gently tilt the chim- 
ney over to the east, where it will fall without 
doing any damage.” 

“What if it falls the other way, and crashes 
down on top of those low buildings?” asked 
Larry. 

“We have it guyed up with ropes to prevent 
that,” was the answer. “I guess there’s no dan- 
ger.” 

The preliminary work was almost finished, 
when a man, carrying a red flag, came out of a 
small shanty. 

“There goes the dynamite,” said Larry, to the 
picture man. “Now you’ll see some fun, I am 
thinking.” 

The foreman made everyone move back out of 
harm’s way. Most persons were glad enough to 
obey the request, but the reporters, including 
Larry, said if they had to stay so far back they 
could see nothing. 

“But think of the risk you run,” objected the 
foreman. “Some of you may be killed.” 

“We’ll take the chance,” replied several. “We 
want to be close by when the stack hits the 
ground, and so do the photographers.” 

The foreman interposed no more objections, 
but ordered the work to go on. 

The reporters were gathered in a little group, 
and after talking matters over decided to move 


LARRY’S NARROW ESCAPE 


219 


toward a small tool shanty, that stood well to the 
left of the stack. 

“There’ll be no danger then/’ agreed Larry. 

So the scribes went to the hut. The man 
with the red flag had placed the explosive at the 
bottom of the stack, and, seeing that everything 
was in readiness, waved his flag at a signal that 
he was about to touch off the fuse. At this sign 
of danger the crowd pressed farther back. 

A thin spiral of smoke arose from the fuse. 
The man with the red flag ran off at top speed. 
From a window of the shanty the whole affair 
could be seen. 

Suddenly there came a dull, rumbling sound, 
and the earth shook. Then a little cloud of bricks, 
mortar, and dust shot upward. Next the tall 
stack, the foundation of which had been weak- 
ened, began slowly to tilt over. As the foreman 
had desired, it was falling to the left. 

Then all at once the stack seemed to hesitate. 
It appeared to be poised, like the Leaning Tower 
of Pisa. Next, as though the direction had been 
changed by a giant’s hand, the chimney began 
falling toward the shanty. 

“Those reporters will all be killed!” cried the 
foreman. “I warned them of the danger. Come 
out of that !” he yelled, as if they had a chance to 
obey. Swiftly the tower was coming nearer the 
earth. 

Then, as suddenly as before, the direction of 
the fall was changed. The chimney, that had 


220 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

been seemingly in one solid piece, broke in the 
center. 

Down on top of the shack crashed the bricks 
and mortar. The corner of the shanty crumpled 
up like paper, just after most of the reporters had 
fled. 

Larry, however, was not so fortunate. When 
the crash came he was in the far corner of the 
hut. The breaking and rending of timbers had 
formed a sort of archway above his head, and 
the blows from the bricks had been somewhat 
warded off. Larry had a most narrow escape 
from sudden death. 

“Come on out!” called the other reporters to 
him, as the dust settled. 

“I can’t!” cried Larry, faintly. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


JIMMY IS MISSED 

“What’s the matter, are you hurt?” asked one 
of the newspaper men. 

“My foot is pinned down under a plank!” 
Larry exclaimed. “I don’t believe I’m hurt much, 
unless it’s a sprained ankle.” 

By this time several men engaged by the con- 
tractor to help raze the big stack came running 
up. 

“We’ll get you out!” the foreman cried. 
“Heave away, boys!” 

The laborers heaved away with right good 
will, and soon had tossed aside the planks that 
held Larry fast. 

“Come on out now!” the foreman cried. 

Larry endeavored to, but failed. He tried to 
take a few steps, but sank back with a groan. 

“My ankle’s broken!” he exclaimed. 

“Let me look at it,” the foreman said, with 
rough sympathy in his tones. “I’m a sort of doc- 
tor. Have to be, with a lot of men getting hurt 
all the while.” 

Entering the ruined shack he picked Larry up 
as easily as if the young reporter was a child, and 
carried him outside. Then he looked at the right 
221 


222 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


foot, which was the one that pained the lad. The 
ankle was swollen, and the shoelaces were 
stretched tight across the instep. The foreman 
whipped out his knife, and cut the strings. 

“That’s better,” said Larry, with a sigh of re- 
lief. 

“It’s only sprained, not broken,” the foreman 
announced, after gently feeling of the injury. 
“You’ll be laid up a week or so.” 

“Can’t I walk now; I mean in a little while?” 
asked Larry. 

“Not unless you want to lame yourself per- 
manently.” 

“But I’ve got to!” the lad exclaimed. “I’ve 
got to send the story of this thing in.” 

“Say, don’t you worry about the story,” ex- 
claimed one of the other reporters. “We’ll look 
out for you, all right. Stanley will telephone it 
in for you, and tell how you got laid up. We’re 
not after a beat on this. Don’t w r orry.” 

“But I’m afraid Mr. Emberg will want to hear 
from me,” said Larry, who, if he had developed 
any faults yet as a newspaper man, was blessed 
with that of being too conscientious. 

“I’ll drive you to the telephone station in my 
rig,” volunteered the foreman. “I guess your 
sprained ankle won’t prevent you from talking, 
provided you feel you have to do it.” 

“Thanks, I’ll do that,” answered Larry, glad of 
the chance to send the story in himself, though he 
was grateful for the aid of the other reporters. 


JIMMY IS MISSED 


223 


There was nothing more to be obtained in the 
way of a story, as the big stack was leveled, 
though the task had not been as well performed 
as had been hoped. So Larry was lifted into the 
carriage, and driven to the nearest telephone. 
There he explained matters to Mr. Emb.erg, who 
had a reporter take the account over the wire, as 
Larry explained all the details, including the 
smashing of the shack. 

‘‘Now you go home, and doctor yourself up,” 
said Mr. Emberg, coming in on the wire when 
Larry had finished his story. “Mr. Newton or I 
will be over to see you to-night. Take care of 
yourself, and don’t worry. Your job will be here 
when you get ready to come back.” 

This relieved Larry’s mind for he was a little 
uncertain as to what happened to reporters who 
were not able to come to work. Then, again be- 
ing helped into the foreman’s carriage, Larry was 
driven to his home, and very much surprised Mrs. 
Dexter and Lucy were to see him brought to the 
house, unable to walk. 

Matters were soon explained, however, and a 
doctor was sent for. He said the sprain, while 
a bad and painful one, was not likely to last 
long, and promised Larry that, if he was care- 
ful, he might be able to go out in a week or ten 
days. 

“Can’t you make it any sooner, doctor?” asked 
Larry. 

“I’m afraid not, my boy. That’s a short enough 


224 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

time to let the cords and sinews get into shape 
again/’ 

Larry made up his mind to bear it as best he 
could, and, with Lucy’s help, he hobbled to an 
easy-chair, where he sat down, while his sister 
made him comfortable with cushions. 

“Where’s Jimmy?” asked Larry, suddenly, as 
he happened to think that he had not seen his lit- 
tle brother since coming home. His heart began 
to beat, almost, in fear. 

“He and Mary went up on the top floor to call 
on a little girl who lives there,” answered Mrs. 
Dexter. 

“Are you sure he’s there?” asked Larry, in 
such a peculiar tone that Mrs. Dexter was 
startled. 

“Of course, Larry. What makes you ask such 
a question? Do you want to see him?” 

“Oh, nothing special,” replied the reporter. “I 
was just wondering where he was.” He did not 
dare to tell the real reason for his inquiry, which 
was prompted by a fear lest the kidnappers should 
have been at work. 

But his mind was soon set at rest, for Jimmy 
came downstairs all excited over a new game he 
had learned. He came in on the jump, but 
stopped when he saw Larry propped up in his 
chair. 

“Are you dead?” he asked, solemnly. 

“Not quite,” replied Larry, with a laugh. “I 
was in an accident, that’s all.” 


JIMMY IS MISSED 22 5 

“Tell me about it; every word,” demanded the 
little fellow. 

So Larry had to go over it all again for the 
benefit of his brother, whose eyes grew big, as 
Larry told of the crash of the big stack and the 
smashing of the shanty. 

In the evening Mr. Newton called, and con- 
gratulated Larry on his escape from possible in- 
jury, if not death. 

“Mr. Emberg thinks a heap of you, Larry,” 
said the older reporter. “Your calling up on the 
’phone, and giving the story, in spite of being 
hurt, shows, he says, that you’re made of the 
right kind of stuff.” 

“Oh, anybody would have done what I did,” 
said Larry, modestly. 

It was pleasant to be praised, however, and he 
was glad that his efforts had been appreciated. 
Larry wanted to talk about the blue-handed man, 
and the threats the gang had made. He wanted 
to ask Mr. Newton if anything new had devel- 
oped, but could get no chance, as Mrs. Dexter and 
Lucy were within hearing distance all the while. 
However, Mr. Newton must have guessed what 
was in Larry’s wind, for he said, in a low tone, 
as he was leaving : 

“I’ll be over soon again, Larry, and I’ll see if 
we can’t think of some scheme to land the gang.” 

Larry was laid up about a week and a half. 
He fretted over being kept in the house, when the 
weather was so fine out of doors, but the doctor 


226 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTE , 


said if his patient did not keep quiet, serious in- 
jury might follow using the ankle too soon. At 
length Larry was able to hobble about on 
crutches, and then, a couple of days later, ven- 
tured out on the sidewalk. He began to be more 
hopeful after that. 

Meanwhile he heard every day from the office, 
and Mr. Emberg sent messages of encourage- 
ment. Larry was told to take as long as he 
wanted to get well, as his salary would go on 
just the same. When pay-night came Mr. Em- 
berg brought the young reporter his envelope, 
for which Larry was very thankful. 

At the end of two weeks Larry felt strong 
enough to go back to work, provided he did not 
have to run any races, or chase after cars. So, 
one bright morning, walking with a slight limp 
that was daily growing less, Larry went down to 
the office. On the way he wondered whether he 
would hear any more about the gang. They 
seemed to have ceased operations, or if they had 
not, they were biding their time. Larry received 
no more warning letters, though he often looked 
for them. 

The young reporter was welcomed back to his 
desk with considerable enthusiasm among his 
colleagues. They said they had missed him, and 
were glad to see him at work once again. 

There was not much to do that day, and Larry 
was told by Mr. Emberg to go home early. 

“You ought to take in the circus,” said the city 


JIMMY IS MISSED 


227 


editor. “It will do you good after having been 
shut up in the house so long. I’ll send for some 
complimentary tickets for you.” 

“I have some,” put in Larry, telling about the 
passes the lion-tamer had given him. 

“Then you’d better go, take someone with 
you, and enjoy the performance,” the city editor 
said. 

Larry made up his mind he would take Jimmy, 
who had done nothing but talk circus for the last 
two weeks, and that evening, when the subject 
was broached, the youngster stood on his head in 
delight. 

“Do you think you can keep awake?” asked 
Mrs. Dexter. “The show lasts a long time.” 

“Well, if he can’t keep awake at a circus, 
mother, he’s not much of a boy,” spoke Larry, 
laughing. 

“Sure I’ll stay awake,” Jimmy replied. 

Jimmy thought the circus performance was 
nothing short of fairyland. It was the first he had 
been to since he was old " enough to remember 
things, and the one in New York had all the gor- 
geousness that can be dreamed of. 

Larry, too, enjoyed himself. He was particu- 
larly interested in Nero, the lion, and pointed the 
ugly beast out to Jimmy. The brute kept in one 
corner of his cage, and growled. 

“His toothache bothers him yet,” explained one 
of the men, who remembered Larry’s perform- 
ance. “I guess we’ll have to pull it.” 


228 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“Pull a lion’s tooth?” inquired Larry. “I 
never heard of such a thing.” 

“Often done,” replied the trainer. “Much 
easier than yanking one from an elephant. If we 
decide to extract a molar from Nero’s jaw, I’ll 
send word down to the paper, if you leave me 
your name, and you can get a story out of it.” 

Larry thanked the man, and handed over a 
business card. Then he and Jimmy went and sat 
down in the seats where they could see the per- 
formance. It was all fine and exciting, but the 
stunt where the man seemed to be falling from 
his trapeze seemed to make the biggest hit, and 
Larry felt that he had a sort of proprietary inter- 
est in it, from having seen it practiced. 

However, as all good things must have an end, 
the circus had one also, and the performance was 
concluded shortly after eleven o’clock. 

“Are you sleepy?” asked Larry of his brother. 

“Not a bit,” replied the little chap, struggling 
to suppress a yawn. “My eyes hurt, that’s all.” 

“Oh!” said Larry, laughing, as he took hold 
of Jimmy’s hand, and began leading him toward 
an exit. There was a big crowd, and Larry soon 
found himself and his brother in the midst of a 
dense throng. He was pushed this way and 
shoved that way. All the while he kept tight hold 
of Jimmy’s hand. 

Suddenly he felt the little fellow pulled away 
from him. Larry looked down. There was no 
trace of the boy. 


JIMMY IS MISSED 


229 


“I must have been separated from him in the 
crush,” thought Larry. ‘Til find him outside the 
door.” 

He hurried out, and rapidly scanned the crowd 
for a glimpse of Jimmy. The boy was not in 
sight, and Larry’s heart began to sink. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


AN ANXIOUS SEARCH 

“I guess he’s just mixed up in the crowd,” 
murmured Larry, trying to make himself believe 
nothing harmful had befallen Jimmy. “He’s so 
little that I can’t see him. I’ll soon find him, 
though.” 

Then Larry caught sight of a policeman he 
knew, and hurried up to the officer. 

“I’ve lost my little brother, Mr. Sullivan,” he 
said. “Where had I better start to look for 
him?” 

“Hello, Larry, me boy!” the officer exclaimed 
good-naturedly, for he had taken quite a fancy 
to the young reporter since Larry had given him 
a little puff in the paper about stopping a runa- 
way horse. “In trouble, eh? Well, I’ll show you 
what we do with lost children. We have a regular 
place for ’em here in the Garden. They’re always 
gettin’ lost, and their fathers an’ mothers is half 
crazy. Come with me.” 

Officer Sullivan led the way to a small room 
off the main offices of those in charge of the show. 
It was an apartment fitted up for the care of lost 
children. The management had found that scores 
of tots whom their parents brought to the circus 
230 


AN ANXIOUS SEARCH 


231 


got lost every day, and the policemen on duty at 
the show had orders to bring them to the 
“nursery,” as it was called. There were two 
nurses and a matron in charge to look after the 
little folk. 

“Here’s a lad to claim one of your lost chil- 
dren, Mrs. Weston,” said Mr. Sullivan, as he 
took Larry to the matron. “His little brother is 
missing.” 

“What is he like?” asked the matron. 

Larry described Jimmy as well as he could. 

“Let me see,” mused Mrs. Weston. “No, I 
don’t believe I have your brother in here yet, 
though I may get him at any moment. Now if 
he was a year or two younger I’m sure I could 
fix you up, as I have some that answer his descrip- 
tion perfectly, except for age. You’re sure you 
can’t be mistaken ?” 

“I’m sure,” replied Larry, who was beginning 
to become more worried. 

“Because, you know, if you were not positive, 
you might be mistaken,” went on the matron. “I 
wish you could find your brother among those I 
have. I’d like to get rid of some of them. The 
crop is unusually heavy to-night.” 

By this time the big Garden was beginning to 
be pretty well cleared of the crowd. Mothers and 
fathers who missed their children had begun to 
drift in and claim them, being directed to the 
“nursery,” by policemen in different parts of the 
amusement place. One after another of the chil- 


232 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


dren were taken away, until there was none left. 
Little Jimmy had not been found. 

Larry’s heart was like lead. He hardly dared 
to go home, and tell his mother what had hap- 
pened. That the blue-handed gang had kid- 
napped the boy Larry had no doubt. That was 
why they had been following him around for the 
last few weeks. Yet, even though he knew this 
must be true, Larry hated to give in to the be- 
lief. 

He stayed around the Garden for a long time, 
until the men began to put the lights out, hoping 
against hope that Jimmy would turn up some- 
where. But, at last, when it came time to close 
the place, Larry could remain no longer. 

“What shall I do?” he thought. “I’m afraid 
the shock will make mother sick. I’m sure he’ll 
not be harmed by the gang, and they’ll give him 
back to us as soon as mother and I agree to sign 
the deed. I will put an advertisement in the 
papers to-morrow — no ! I’ll do it to-night ! 
There’s time enough yet. I must find Mr. New- 
ton, and tell him. He’ll help me!” 

Now that he had decided on a plan of action, 
Larry felt a little better. There’s nothing so bad 
for worry or grief as thinking of it. As soon 
as one can get busy at something the spirits im- 
prove. 

So it was in Larry’s case. He started for Mr. 
Newton’s house, intending to ask his advice 
about the wording of the notice to be put in the 


'AN ANXIOUS SEARCH 


233 


morning papers. He had about an hour yet be- 
fore the time for taking advertisements would be 
up. 

As he was hurrying away he was hailed by 
Officer Sullivan. 

“Did ye find him, Larry ?” 

“No, he wasn’t brought into the nursery.” 

“Well, don’t worry. Probably some police- 
man farther down the street picked him up, and 
took him to the nearest station-house. I’ll turn 
in an alarm for him, and you can inquire at head- 
quarters whether any lost children have been 
picked up. Give me a description of him.” 

Larry did so, and then resumed his trip. He 
made up his mind to stop at police headquarters 
on his way back from Mr. Newton’s, and then to 
go home and tell his mother the sad news, pro- 
vided there was none better to relate. 

Mr. Newton was much shocked when Larry 
told what had happened. He made the youth 
go over every incident. 

“Of course, there’s a bare possibility that the 
gang has not kidnapped him,” spoke the older 
reporter, “but it looks suspicious.” 

“What had I better do?” asked Larry. “I’m 
afraid to go home and tell my mother.” 

“I’ll go with you,” replied Mr. Newton. “But 
before we go we’ll get an advertisement ready. 
We’ll insert it in several papers. I don’t believe 
in giving in to these blackmailers, but I think in 
this case we can set a trap for them by this ad- 


234 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


vertisement. I have been doing some work on 
the case, and I think there’ll be some develop- 
ments shortly.” 

“If I only knew that Jimmy was safe, I’d not 
worry so much,” said Larry, with something like 
a sob in his throat. 

“I think he will be treated all right by the 
gang,” replied Mr. Newton. “It would not be 
their policy to hurt him. They are only trying to 
scare you.” 

“Well, they’re succeeding pretty well.” 

Mr. Newton got his hat, and, having written 
several advertisements stating that a certain per- 
son was ready to do what a certain blue-handed 
man desired, provided a certain person was re- 
stored to his home, he and Larry went out. They 
headed for several newspaper offices on Park 
Row, and soon the advertisement had been ac- 
cepted, and paid for. It was to appear under the 
head of “Personals.” 

“Now we’ll see what good that will do,” ob- 
served Mr. Newton, as he reached the last office 
just in time to have the notice taken for the next 
day’s paper. “I think you had better be getting 
home, too. Your mother will be worried at your 
absence. I’ll go along.” 

“She’ll be more worried when I do get home,” 
remarked Larry, dubiously. *But I suppose 
there’s no help for it.” 

Frightened enough was Mrs. Dexter when Mr. 
Newton broke the news to her as gently as possi- 


AN ANXIOUS SEARCH 


235 


ble. She grew pale, and then almost fainted, 
while Mary and Lucy, when they heard the bad 
tidings, began to cry, though Mary hardly knew 
what for, save that something had happened to 
make her mother sad. 

“Now don’t you get down-hearted,” advised 
Mr. Newton. “We’ll find Jimmy for you just as 
soon as we can. Maybe we’ll have him for you 
before morning. He may have been picked up by 
some persons who saw he was lost, and they may 
have taken him home. There are hundreds of 
things that might have happened. You’ll be 
laughing at this scare in a few days.” 

“I’m sure I hope so,” replied Mrs. Dexter, with 
a sigh. 

Leaving Larry to comfort his mother as best 
he could, Mr. Newton set off to make a trip 
to police headquarters. He wanted, to be sure 
that Jimmy was not lost in the usual manner in 
which hundreds of New York children are lost 
every week. From the sergeant in charge Mr. 
Newton learned that the usual number of little 
ones had been picked up. They were at the vari- 
ous precinct station-houses, awaiting owners. 
Some had been there since early morning, their 
mothers either having forgotten all about them, 
or else thinking they were safe at some relative’s 
or neighbor’s house. 

None of the unclaimed ones, however, an- 
swered the description of Larry’s brother. They 
were too young or too old, too large or too small. 


236 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


or had some other feature about them that pre- 
cluded any chance of one being Jimmy. 

“Do your best on this case, Tom,” Mr. Newton 
said to the sergeant behind the desk, as he was 
leaving. “Send out a general alarm. The child’s a 
little brother of a reporter on the Leader, and a 
friend of mine. If you hear anything during 
the night from any of the precincts, call me up. 
I have a ’phone in the house, now.” 

. “I will,” promised the sergeant. “I hope they 
find the little lad.” 

Rather tired, but not discouraged, Mr. Newton 
went home. He knew the police would do their 
best, as many of them were friends of his, and, 
besides, the bluecoats had a very good feeling 
toward the Leader, as it had advocated higher 
pay for the police and firemen, and the measure 
had passed the Legislature, so there was in line 
with his duty nothing a bluecoat would not do 
for the Leader. 

But the night wore on, and there came no word 
to Mr. Newton concerning Jimmy. The reporter 
went to bed about two o’clock, leaving word for 
the elevator attenda$t to awaken him in time to 
get to work at the usual hour. 

In their rooms, waiting, and hoping against 
hope, sat Mrs. Dexter, Larry, and Lucy. Mary 
had fallen asleep. It was a sad household, though 
Larry tried hard to make his mother feel that 
there was no danger to Jimmy. 

“I can’t . help crying,” replied Mrs. Dexter. 


AN ANXIOUS SEARCH 


237 


“My little boy has never been away from me a 
night in his life. He’ll cry so hard, and be so 
frightened at those rough men! Oh, Larry! 
Why did they do it ? Let them have all they ask, 
only get Jimmy back!” 

“Maybe the men who are after the property 
have not got Jimmy,” suggested Larry, hoping 
to cheer up his mother. 

“Oh, I’m sure he been kidnapped!” she ex- 
claimed. “I feel that he has. I only hope they 
will not harm him,” and the poor woman began 
to cry softly again, in spite of the efforts Lucy 
and Larry made to comfort her. 

Thus the long night wore on ; none in the Dex- 
ter household, save little Mary, sleeping more than 
a few minutes at a time. Every now and then 
one of them would awaken, thinking they heard 
someone coming, bringing what might prove 
joyful news, but each time it was a false alarm. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


IN THE ENEMY’S POWER 

When Jimmy, holding tightly to Larry’s 
hand, started away from the bench in the Garden 
where he had watched the wonderful show, the lit- 
tle fellow’s mind was in a tumult at -what he had 
seen. It was one endless round of delight for 
him, and he was sorry that it was over, thtat the 
people were going home, and that the performers 
had disappeared. 

“Let’s go and see the animals ^gain,” begged 
Jimmy, but Larry was too intent on getting out 
of the crowd to pay any attention to the request. 

Just at that moment a lad, who seemed to be 
about the same age as Larry, stepped up behind 
Jimmy, who was lagging in the rear. He cast a 
sharp look at the young reporter and his little 
brother, and, when the small chap asked to be 
taken once more to the animals, the youth seemed 
to be much excited. 

He leaned over and whispered to Jimmy, tak- 
ing good care that Larry did not see him. 

“If you come with me I’ll take you to the ani- 
mals,” the youth said. “We’ll see the elephants, 
the tigers, th$ lions, the zebras, and the horses. 
Come on, Jimmy, and we’ll have a good time!” 

238 


IN THE ENEMY’S POWER 


239 


It was done in an instant, but, swift and low 
as the voice was, the little boy heard and under- 
stood. Still he remembered what his mother had 
said to him about keeping tight hold of Larry’s 
hand. The strange youth seemed to understand 
this, for he went on: 

“After we see the animals we’ll come back to 
Larry. Don’t let him know about this, for the 
animals might all* run away, and we wouldn’t see 
them again.” 

That settled it for Jimmy. He was ready to 
do anything to see the wild beasts again, and 
was willing to keep quiet for fear of scaring them 
away. 

So, almost before he knew what he was doing, 
Jimmy had released his hold of Larry’s hand, and 
clasped that of the strange youth who promised 
such delights as unlimited quantities of wild ani- 
mals. 

Once he had hold of Jimmy, the youth made 
his way rapidly through the crowd. He dodged 
this way and that, pulling the little chap along, 
half dragging him at times, until Jimmy, from 
very weariness, cried out : 

“Please show me the wild animals. I’m awful 
tired i” 

“We’ll soon be there,” the lad went on. “It’s 
just around the next corner, and down a little 
ways. Oh, but you’ll see the finest lot of animals 
that ever got into a circus!” 

That satisfied Jimmy for a while, and he 


240 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


trudged on, not noticing that the crowd was thin- 
ning out, that his leader had left the Garden, and 
was walking along the street. 

“Where are the animals?” asked the little boy, 
who was beginning to feel that all was not right. 

“It’s a little further now,” was the answer. 
“They are feeding the polar bear, and the lion is 
mad because they didn’t give him his supper first, 
so we’ll have to wait a while.” 

This seemed reasonable to Jimmy, who knew 
that bears and lions were fierce beasts, and had 
to be humored. So he said nothing, only he won- 
dered more and more why he had been taken 
away from the music and lights, and the com- 
panionship of his brother. But he was so small 
that he had no suspicions. 

On and on the two trudged. They had left the 
well-lighted streets, and were in a dark section 
of the city, where only an occasional gas lamp 
gave a fitful gleam that illuminated a small cir- 
cle, and seemed to leave the rest in denser black- 
ness than if there had been no light. 

“I’m afraid!” Jimmy said, after a while. “I 
want to go home !” 

“All right ; we’ll go home after we see the ani- 
mals!” said the youth, who seemed much elated 
over something. 

“Don’t want to see any animals ! Want to go 
home!” Jimmy cried. “I want Larry! Take me 
to Larry !” and he began to sob. 

“Now wait a minute !” the lad leading him ex- 


IN THE ENEMY’S POWER 


241 


claimed. “I'm going to show you the finest 
steam engine you ever saw, and I’ll let you turn 
on the steam!” 

“Honest and truly?” asked Jimmy, his mind 
suddenly turned from the idea of tears. 

“Sure,” replied the youth. “It’s just around 
the corner. Come on, now, before it gets away.” 

Thereupon Jimmy hurried, full of glee at what 
had always been one of his childish ambitions — 
to run a steam-engine. The youth leading him 
went down many streets, until it seemed to the 
little fellow they must have traversed several 
miles. But Jimmy did not think of complaining, 
though he was very tired. His feet lagged be- 
hind now and again, however, and the youth 
leading him noticed this. 

“Poor kid, I sort of hate to do this/’ he said, 
“but I have to, or lose my job, and I never could 
get another after what I’ve done. I wish I could 
take a car, but someone might see us, and then 
the jig would be up. It isn’t much farther, that’s 
one good thing.” 

He had been talking to himself in a low tone, 
and now and then he looked down on Jimmy to 
see how the little boy was standing the journey. 

“Is it much farther?” asked the small lad. 

“Not much. Just you think about the steam- 
engine, and you’ll not notice how tired you are.” 

“I’m trying to,” replied Jimmy, blinking to 
keep back the tears. 

The youth chose the darkest and least-fre- 


242 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


quented streets, and seemed anxious to escape ob- 
servation, as he led Jimmy along. Once he saw 
a policeman standing under a gas-lamp, and, at 
the sight of the bluecoat, the youth darted across 
the street, and slunk along in the shadow, keep- 
ing Jimmy on the side farthest away from the 
officer, at the same time cautioning the little boy 
to remain quiet, and not speak. 

Down a side street that was more gloomy and 
lonesome than any they had yet traversed, the 
youth led his captive. There was, here and there, 
a gas-lamp, but it seemed to make the dark- 
ness only more intense. Strange-looking figures 
flitted here and there out of the shadows, appar- 
ently afraid of what little light there was. 

Figures there were with loosely-fitting clothes, 
wide sleeves to the jackets, and wide trousers. 
On their feet were shoes with thick soles, and 
some of them had long braids of hair hanging 
down their backs. Jimmy caught sight of one, 
and huddled closer to the youth. 

“There’s a Chinaman!” the little fellow ex- 
claimed. “I’m afraid of him !” 

“Sure he’s a Chinaman,” the youth agreed. 
“I call ’em Chinks. Nobody here calls ’em China- 
men.” 

“I’m afraid,” repeated Jimmy. HD always had 
had a sort of horror of the almond-eyed Celes- 
tials. 

“They won’t hurt you,” the youth assured him. 
“This is where they live. This is Chinatown. 


IN THE ENEMY'S POWER 


243 


You’ll have lots of fun. I know a Chink that’ll 
make you a fine kite that’ll sail away up in the 
air.” 

“Honest?” asked the little boy, his fear tem- 
porarily gone at the mention of the kite. 

“Sure, if you’re a good boy.” 

“You get the kite, and give it to me,” pleaded 
Jimmy. “I’m a-skeered to have a Chinaman 
come near me.” 

“All right, I will,” agreed the youth. Then 
in a lower tone he added. “It’s a good thing 
he is afraid. It will keep him from trying to 
escape. The house is full of Chinks, and he’ll 
not try to leave the room after I get him in. I’ll 
have an easier time than I thought I would.” 

They went on past several dark houses. Now 
and then a door would open, letting a glimmer of 
light out from the hall. The portal would close 
quickly again, and the figure that had come out 
would slink along as though afraid of being seen. 

“Here we are!” the youth exclaimed, coming 
to a halt in front of a three-storied building that 
was darker and more gloomy-looking than any 
they had yet passed. 

“Is the steam-engine here?” asked Jimmy. 

“Sure, come on in.” 

“And the kite?” 

“Yep. Come along, now, kid, and don’t make 
any noise.” 

Hardly able to drag one foot after another, so 
tired was he, Jimmy followed his captor to the 


244 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


stairs. Up two flights they went, until they came 
to the third-floor hall, then along that corridor 
until they reached a door that had a crude draw- 
ing of the rising sun painted upon it. The youth 
gave three raps, paused a second, rapped four 
times, and then thirteen times in quick succession. 
A little panel in the door opened, and a voice 
whispered : 

“Who’s there?” 

“The Mikado’s messenger,” was the youth’s 
answer. “Hurry up and let me in; don’t go 
through all the usual foolishness.” 

“What does he bring?” the voice proceeded. 

“A watermelon,” was the youth’s reply. 
“Come on now, Jake, it’s only ” 

“Mention no names !” exclaimed the voice, 
seemingly in anger. “Remember your instruc- 
tions.” 

The next instant the door opened, and the 
youth, pushing Jimmy in front of him, entered, 
when the portal was quickly shut. The man who 
had been at the slide locked and barred the door, 
and then followed the youth and Jimmy down a 
passage that led toward a room where a light 
glowed. 

“Who’s coming?” asked a voice from the 
room. 

“It’s me,” replied the youth. 

“Any luck?” 

“Sure; I’ve got the kid.” 

“No! Good for you, Peter!” and then, as the 


IN THE ENEMY’S POWER 


245 


youth and Jimmy entered the room, a man, who 
seemed to be scrubbing his hands at a sink, looked 
up, and laughed. “Good enough, Peter,” he went 
on. “We’ll see what our friend Larry Dexter 
has to say now. He’ll sing a different tune, I 
guess.” 

“What you doing?” asked Peter Manton, for 
it was the old copy boy of the Leader who had 
kidnapped Jimmy, and delivered him into the 
power of the gang. 

“Trying to get rid of that blue stuff on my 
hands,” was the man’s answer. “It sticks worse 
"than a porous plaster. I’ll not dare to go out 
now, for that reporter, Newton, will have every 
detective in New York looking for me, and if 
they see my hands, even in gloves, they’ll nab me, 
and the game will be up.” 

“Do you think they’ll suspect you?” asked 
Peter. 

“Suspect? They probably know for a cer- 
tainty that I’m mixed up in this. Those reporters 
are no fools. They’re better than half the de- 
tectives.” 

“Will they suspect me?” asked Peter, with 
something like a whimper in his voice. 

“Of course, and if they get us you’ll have to 
take your medicine with the rest.” 

“You said you’d protect me,” said Peter. 

“So I will as much as I can,” replied the blue- 
handed man, “but I can’t fight the whole police 
force. I’ve done pretty well as it is.” 


246 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“I want the steam-engine and the kite,” said 
Jimmy, his voice trembling. “I want to go home I 
I want Larry!” 

“We must keep him quiet,” the blue-handed 
man said. “Give him something to eat, and get 
out some kind of Chinese toys. He’ll be asleep 
pretty soon, if I’m any judge.” 


CHAPTER XXX 


JIMMY HELD CAPTIVE 

Jimmy was ready to burst into tears. He had 
kept his courage up under the strangeness of be- 
ing taken away from Larry, by the promise of 
the animals first, then the steam-engine, and next 
the kite. When none of these was forthcoming, 
the boy felt that he had been fooled, and this 
made him feel badly. Then, too, he was really 
frightened by the darkness and the strange man 
and place to which he had been brought. 

“Here, kid!” called Peter, after rummaging 
in a closet, “here’s a fine jumping- jack,” and he 
gave Jimmy a Chinese toy. 

It was arranged so that, by pressing two pieces 
of wood which formed the handle of the jump- 
ing-jack, the manikin would cut all sorts of queer, 
capers. For a while this served to take Jimmy’s 
mind off his troubles. 

“Now get him something to eat,” the blue- 
handed man ordered Peter. “The rest of the fel- 
lows will be coming here pretty soon, and we’ll 
have to talk business. Go out and get him some 
pie.” 

“Pie’s no good for kids,” remarked Peter. 

247 


248 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“No? Well, I used to like it when I was a 
youngster,” the man replied. 

“It will give him the nightmare, and keep him 
awake,” spoke Peter. “I’d better give him crack- 
ers and milk.” 

“All right, whatever you say. It’s so long 
since I’ve had anything to do with babies that I 
don’t know what they need. Now don’t you 
worry,” the blue-handed man went on, turning to 
Jimmy, while Peter got out the food. “I’m sorry 
we had to bring you here, but we’ll take good care 
of you, and if your friends do the right thing, 
you’ll soon be allowed to go.” 

“I want to go now,” said Jimmy. 

“I’d be glad to let you, I’m sure,” spoke the 
man, “if only that brother of yours would do 
what we want him to in the matter of land, we 
would. But, of course, you don’t understand 
about that.” 

By this time Peter had fixed some crackers and 
milk for the little fellow, who was quite hungry. 
The blue-handed man resumed the work of try- 
ing to remove the stains of nitro-glycerine from 
his fingers, and while he ate Jimmy watched him 
curiously. 

In a little while, however, Jimmy’s eyes be- 
gan to grow more and more heavy, his head nod- 
ded lower and lower, and, almost before he knew 
it, he had fallen asleep. 

“He’s off,” announced Peter. 

“Well, put him to bed,” instructed the blue- 


JIMMY HELD CAPTIVE 


249 


handed man. “I’m glad he’s out of the way. 
Here come some of the fellows.” 

As Peter was carrying Jimmy to a bed in an 
inner room, the sound of steps was heard in the 
hall. Then came the odd raps, such as Peter had 
given, and the questions and answers. Then the 
blue-handed man admitted three other men. 
They went to the main room, and while Peter 
prepared to go to bed in the same apartment 
where Jimmy was, all of the men sat about the 
table. 

“Well, what’s the news ?” asked one of the new- 
comers. “Getting the stains off, Noddy?” 

“I wish you’d keep quiet about those stains,” 
said the blue-handed man, rather angrily. “I’m 
having trouble enough over them. But, for all 
that, I’ve done more than you have, Sam Per- 
kins.” 

“What have you done?” 

“I’ve got the kid.” 

“Which one, Larry or his brother?” 

“His brother. Peter copped him to-night at 
the circus. He’s here now.” 

“Good for you!” exclaimed Perkins. “That’s 
something like. Now we can go ahead with that 
land business. Alderman Beacham was saying 
the other day, if we didn’t pull the thing off pretty 
soon the committee would have to make a report. 
Once the thing becomes public our chance of 
making a fortune is gone.” 

“I guess that Larry will come to time now,” 


250 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


remarked Noddy. ‘Til look for a personal from 
him in the papers to-morrow, saying he’s ready 
to sign the deed. I’m getting tired of keeping the 
paper around. It’s a dangerous document to be 
found on me.” 

“I hope you have it in a safe place,” remarked 
one of the men, who had not yet spoken save to 
greet Noddy. 

“The safest place in the world,” replied Noddy. 
He pointed to a mantelpiece, on which were a 
number of objects. One was what seemed to be 
a folded newspaper stuck behind a vase, and half 
showing. “There it is,” he said, indicating the 
newspaper. 

“I don’t call that very secure,” remarked Per- 
kins. 

“It is, because it’s so simple,” argued Noddy. 
“If I had it in a safe or a strong-box, that 
would be the first place they would look for 
it if they broke in. But they’d never think of 
unfolding that piece of newspaper, because it’s 
so common. They’d say to themselves that I’d 
never be so foolish as to leave it in plain sight 
that way, and so they’d pass over it.” 

“That’s a good idea,” admitted Dick Randall, 
the man who had asked about the deed. 

“Well, what’s the next thing on the pro- 
gramme?” asked Noddy, after the men had 
lighted cigars which he produced. 

“We’ll wait a few days until we hear from 
Larry, I think,” spoke Perkins. 


JIMMY HELD CAPTIVE 


251 


“But if he don’t answer, and agree to do as we 
want ?” 

“Well, then, we’ll have to drop him a gentle 
hint that something is liable to happen to the kid 
here.” 

“But you wouldn’t hurt the little fellow!” ex- 
claimed Noddy. “I wouldn’t stand for that,” he 
went on. “I’m bad enough and desperate enough, 
as all of you know, but if there’s going to be any 
game that includes hurting a little chap, you can 
not only cut me out of it, but I’ll not stand for 

it, and I’ll ” and the blue-handed man seemed 

to be very much in earnest. 

“Getting chicken-hearted?” sneered Perkins. 

“Well, you can call it what you like,” went on 
Noddy, looking at his stained hands, “but I’m not 
as low as that yet. I want this deal to go through 
as much as any of you fellows, but I’ll not step 
over a certain line, and the sooner you know it 
the better.” 

“You don’t mean to say you’ll peach on us?” 
asked Randall. 

“Not unless I have to,” answered Noddy, 
calmly. “It depends on how far you go.” 

“Noddy’s right,” remarked Randall, with a 
wink at the other two. “I’m opposed to hurting 
the child. We’ll only use him for scaring Larry 
and his mother into doing what we want. After 
all, we’re giving the young cub and the widow a 
fair price for this land. We’re taking a lot of 
risks, and it’s only fair we should be paid for ’em. 


252 LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 

It isn’t as if we were trying to get the land for 
nothing.” 

“Oh, I’m with you in anything reasonable,” 
spoke the blue-handed man. “Only, don’t hurt 
the little kid. That’s my last word. I used to 
have a little boy once — before I went to the bad,” 
and he turned his head away. 

For a long time the gang sat up and discussed 
their programme. Their talk revealed that they 
had laid a well-planned plot to get possession of 
Jimmy, in order to have a hold over Larry. They 
had watched and schemed to kidnap him, but 
Larry’s watchfulness had foiled them a number 
of times. At last, as has been seen, the opportu- 
nity came most unexpectedly. 

Peter, who had been appointed to shadow 
Larry at different times, watched him set out for 
the circus. The former copy boy, whom associa- 
tion with bad men had made sharp-witted, had 
seen his chance in the Garden, and taken advan- 
tage of it. 

Jimmy had been brought to one of the worst 
dens in New York’s Chinatown. It was hired 
by a gang of white men who were worse than 
the lowest Celestial criminals. The room, the 
door of which had a rising sun painted on it, was 
the headquarters of a notorious band of men. 

The existence of the gang was known to the 
police, but so cunning were the members, and so 
elusive were they, that few, and only the least 
important, had ever been arrested. 


JIMMY HELD CAPTIVE 


253 


It was into the power of this gang and to their 
headquarters that Jimmy had been brought, a 
fate which his worst enemy, provided he had one, 
would never have wished .him. 

“Well, we might as well break up,” said Ran- 
dall, at length. 

“I don’t see that we can do anything more,” 
remarked Perkins, “unless our legal friend here, 
Mr. Snyder, has some advice to give.” 

“No,” replied the third member of the party, 
who had not yet spoken, “I think we’ll let things 
take their course. When I think you need advice 
I’ll give it.” 

He smiled, and rubbed his hands together as 
though he was wrapping up ill-gotten money. He 
was a lawyer who had once been a brilliant mem- 
ber of the bar, but whose tricky practices had 
driven him from the courts. Now he was the 
official legal adviser of the Rising Sun crowd, 
and many was the scrape he had helped them 
out of. He also planned some crimes, and as- 
sisted in carrying them out. 

“Well, get along, then,” said the blue-handed 
man. “I want to close up here, and get some 
sleep. I’ve got a family on my hands now,” and 
he laughed in a mirthless sort of way. 

“We’ll see you to-morrow night,” remarked 
Perkins. “We may have some news by then 
that will relieve you of your charge.” 

“I’m sure I hope so,” spoke Noddy, locking the 
door, as the three men went softly out. 


254 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


He listened to their footsteps dying away down 
the hall. Then Noddy went into the room where 
Peter and Jimmy were. Both had fallen asleep; 
Jimmy’s face tear-stained, for he had wept when 
he found there were neither kites, steam-engines, 
nor even Larry to comfort him. 

“Poor little kid,” sighed the blue-handed man. 
“I wish you were out of this. I’m sorry I ever 
went into the game, but now I’m in I suppose 
I’ll have to stay. Well, if they try to hurt you 
they’ll have me to reckon with,” and then, with 
another look at the little boy, and wiping what 
might have been tears from his eyes, Noddy went 
to his own bedroom. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


SEARCHING FOR THE LOST 

When the Dexter household awoke the morn- 
ing after the night on which Jimmy had disap- 
peared, it seemed as if it was all a bad dream or 
nightmare. It did not seem possible that the lit- 
tle fellow was missing, and Larry, as he roused 
himself from his uneasy slumbers, and jumped 
out of bed, was half inclined to believe that it was 
all only a vision of the darkness. 

But the absence of Jimmy’s cheerful call, si- 
lence in his room, and the lack of the child’s 
merry laugh, soon emphasized the fact that he 
was missing. 

No one felt like eating breakfast, and Mrs. 
Dexter was so much affected that Larry feared 
she would become ill. 

“Now, mother,” he said to her, “you must 
not worry so. I’ll admit there’s lots of cause for 
it, but we’ll find Jimmy sooner or later. He can’t 
be hurt. He’s probably, as I said, been taken by 
that gang, but it’s to their interest to keep him 
safe. He has a claim on the property the same 
as you or I have, and if any — any harm came to 
him it would only mix things up for them. You 
255 


256 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


can depend on it, they’ll take very good care of 
Jimmy.” 

“Do you think so ?” asked Mrs. Dexter. 

“Sure,” replied Larry. “Besides we’ll have 
him back in a few days, no matter where he is. 
Mr. Newton and I will start on the search. The 
Leader will help us, and all the police in the city 
will lend a hand, as they are friendly toward our 
paper.” 

“That’s right, mother,” chimed in Lucy. 
“Don’t worry, and I’m sure it will all come out 
right. I feel that Jimmy will come back safe to 
us.” 

“I’ll try,” said Mrs. Dexter, wiping the tears 
from her eyes, “but it’s a terrible thing to have a 
little boy kidnapped.” 

Larry made a light breakfast, and hurried to 
the office. Early as he was, he found Mr. Newton 
there before him. The older reporter showed the 
strain he was under, for he had slept but little. 
Pretty soon Mr. Emberg came in. 

Mr. Newton soon explained the situation to 
the editor, and asked for a leave of absence for 
Larry and himself to enable them to trace down 
the gang and locate Jimmy. 

“Of course you may go,” said the city editor. 
“Call on the Leader for any help you want, finan- 
cial or otherwise. If you can get at this gang 
and break it up, or if you can get at the bottom 
of this land deal and make a story out of it, so 
much the better. Have your own way, your time 


SEARCHING FOR THE LOST 


257 


is your own. Come back to work, Larry, when 
you find your brother and clear up the mystery.” 

With this roving commission, Larry and Mr. 
Newton started away. 

“Well, Larry,” remarked the older reporter, 
“we seem to be sort of up against it.” 

“What are we going to do?” asked Larry, help- 
lessly. “Mother is almost sick from worry, and 
if we don’t find Jimmy soon I don’t know what 
will happen.” 

“Larry,” spoke Mr. Newton, solemnly, “we’re 
going to find the little fellow. I don’t pose as 
a prophet, and my predictions don’t always come 
true, but I’m going to succeed in this, and we’re 
not going to give in to those scoundrels, either. 
There’s something big in this for you and your 
mother, or I’m greatly mistaken. Otherwise the 
gang would not be so anxious to get that land. 
But we’re going to let that go for a while, and 
work only on clews that will lead to finding your 
brother. We’ll begin at the beginning, which is 
at the Garden, where he disappeared.” 

The two reporters went to where the circus was 
holding forth. It was about ten o’clock in the 
morning, and the big arena had a very different 
appearance from the night before, when thou- 
sands of lights lent a glamour to the scene, and 
when gayly-dressed men and women added to the 
brilliance. 

Now everything was dark and dreary. A few 
men, seemingly too tired to move, were fixing 


258 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

up some of the apparatus, and others were sweep- 
ing and dusting. It was a glance behind the 
scenes with everything at its worst. 

Mr. Newton knew several of the managers of 
the departments, and soon was in conversation 
with them. He wanted to find out who of the 
circus men were on duty at the gate Larry and 
Jimmy left by. 

From the man who kept the list of employees 
Mr. Newton learned exactly what he wanted to 
know* 

“It was Bill Lynch,” the bookkeeper said. 
“Maybe he can help you, but he’ll not be here 
until near noon. He’s on guard at No. 16 en- 
trance.” 

It was tedious waiting for Lynch, but at last 
lie came in. Larry and Mr. Newton made a dash 
for him, almost before the man had his coat off, 
preparatory to donning his uniform. 

“What’s this, a hold-up?” he asked, good-na- 
turedly. 

“A hold-up for information,” said Mr. New- 
ton. “We want to know something about a boy 
who is missing, and who is supposed to have 
passed out the gate where you stood last night,” 
and the reporter described Jimmy. 

“My lands !” the man said. “I can’t remember 
every boy I see. I don’t take notice of the thou- 
sands that pass by me every night. If I did I’d 
go crazy. All I do is to see that they keep or- 
der.” 


SEARCHING FOR THE LOST 


259 


“But he was with me,” put in Larry. “I had 
hold of his hand, and I was leading him out, 
when he asked me to come and see the animals 
again. But I was in too much of a hurry to get 
out to pay any attention to him. Now can’t you 
remember? Right after that I missed him, and 
made a lot of inquiries.” 

“I remember there was quite some stir about 
a missing boy last night,” remarked Mr. Lynch, 
“but that happens so often I paid no attention to 
it. But now that you speak of it, I do seem to 
recall something about a boy begging to be taken 
to see the animals again. It was rather odd, I 
call to mind now, I was thinking, that a lad who 
had seen all the trapeze stunts inside would be 
wanting to go back to the animals. Most of ’em, 
as soon as they comes out, asks their fathers or 
mothers to buy ’em a trapeze, or some flying 
rings. But I recall I heard one little lad asking 
to be taken to the animals, and possibly it’s the 
one you’re inquiring of.” 

“I’m sure it is!” exclaimed Larry. “What 
happened to him?” 

“As near as I can recollect,” went on Mr. 
Lynch, “I heard someone tell him to come with 
him, and he’d see the beasts. Didn’t you take 
him yourself?” 

“No,” replied Larry. “Try and think, Mr. 
Lynch, what sort of a person it was enticed him 
away.” 

The doorkeeper seemed lost in thought. He 


260 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


pondered over the matter, striving to bring back 
to his mind the scene he had almost forgotten. 

“I think I have it !” he exclaimed. “There was 
a lad about your age,” indicating Larry, “who 
came up behind the little chap, and said some- 
thing about taking him to see the animals. I 
didn’t pay much attention, for I thought you were 
all together.” 

“What sort of a boy was this one you speak 
of?” asked Mr. Newton, eagerly. 

“Well, he was what I’d call a bold-looking 
lad,” was the answer. “Not a nice sort of a chap 
at all, though he seemed smart.” He proceeded 
to describe the boy more fully when Mr. Newton 
interrupted him : 

“I’m pretty sure I know who he was !” 

“So am I !” cried Larry. “It was Peter Man- 
ton !” 

“The very one I had in mind,” spoke Mr. New- 
ton. “That only proves what we believed all 
along. It is the gang with the blue-handed man 
at the head that has Jimmy. Peter is only one 
of the tools. Yet we may be able to get a clew 
through him. He’s liable to make a false move, 
not being as well versed in crime as the older 
ones. I think we are beginning to see daylight, 
Larry.” 

“But it’s a pretty faint clew,” objected Larry. 

“Yes, of course, but we can’t expect every- 
thing. We’ve got a clew quicker than I expected 
we would. Now we will have to develop it and 


SEARCHING FOR THE LOST 


261 


work it up. I’m sure it will lead to something. 
We must get on the trail of Peter. Do you think 
you could do that?” 

“I guess so,” answered Larry. 

“Then we’ll split up this work,” went on the 
older reporter. “You devote your time to locat- 
ing Peter, or find out where he hangs out. If 
you get a chance, follow him. Sooner or later 
he’ll go to the headquarters of the gang. I’ll 
work on another end.” 

“What are you going to do?” asked Larry. 

“I’m going to start my investigations from the 
sign of the blue hand,” replied Mr. Newton. 

“Not from the place in Chinatown where you 
were nearly injured by those men?” 

“That’s what I’m going to do. But don’t be 
alarmed. There’s no one at that place now. The 
gang moved out soon after I traced them there, 
and have not been back since. I learned that 
from some detectives. So there’s no danger in 
going back there.” 

“But what good will it do?” 

“It may put me on the track of the gang’s new 
headquarters. That it is somewhere in China- 
town I’m certain, but to locate it is a harder 
proposition. I may be able to make friends with 
someone in the house where the room with the 
sign of the blue hand on the door is located, and 
he may be able to tell me where the members of 
the gang hold out. Once I get a clew the rest 
will be comparatively easy.” 


262 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


“Well, I hope you’ll succeed,” spoke Larry. 
“In the meanwhile I’ll see if I can locate Peter.” 

Arranging to meet again late that night at 
Mr. Newton’s house, Larry and his friend sepa- 
rated. The boy hardly knew where to begin. 
Without experience in this sort of work, for which 
Mr. Newton’s training as a newspaper reporter 
fitted him, Larry thought the only way to do 
would be to walk about the streets, taking a chance 
of seeing Peter in the crowds that passed by. He 
even tried this plan, but he saw that it would be 
apt to fail, since the chances were so much against 
him. 

“I ought to start at the beginning,” he said. 
“That is, if I knew where the beginning was.” 

Then it occurred to him that the most natural 
way would be to find out where Peter lived, or 
had lived, and to go there. 

“I wonder why I didn’t think of that at first?” 
mused Larry. “Of course I should have. I’ll go 
back to the office. They’ll probably have Peter’s 
address on the payroll.” 

Back to the Loader office he went. He ex- 
plained what he wanted to Mr. Emberg, who 
soon ascertained from the cashier’s books where 
the former copy boy had lived. 

“But he probably doesn’t live there now,” said 
the city editor. “This was nearly a year ago. 
He’s likely moved since.” 

“I’ll trace him!” exclaimed Larry. “I’ll get 
on his trail and find him, if he’s in the city.” 


CHAPTER XXXII 


IN QUEST OF PETER 

The address Larry had as that where Peter 
had lived took him to a poor, though respecta- 
ble, part of the city. It was pretty well uptown, 
on the East Side, and the young reporter soon 
found himself in a thickly-settled tenement dis- 
trict. The streets were filled with children, 
among whom pushcart peddlers shoved their 
vehicles laden with everything from fish to calico, 
and from books to suspenders. After some search 
Larry located the house where Peter had resided. 

There were five floors, and four families lived 
on each. 

“That makes twenty places to inquire, if I don’t 
strike the right place first,” reasoned Larry. 
“Well, it’s like hunting a needle in a haystack, 
but it’s got to be done.” 

He knocked at the door of the first apartment 
on the first floor. No one answered, and Larry 
tapped again, this time quite loudly. Suddenly 
a door across the hall opened, and a woman stuck 
her head out. 

“Veil?” she inquired. 

“Does Peter Manton live here?” asked Larry. 

“Vat is ?” asked the woman. 

263 


264 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

Larry repeated his question, at the same time 
coming closer to the door, thinking the woman 
had not heard him. 

“Ich weiss nicht ” she replied, that being the 
German equivalent for “I don’t know,” and then, 
having satisfied her curiosity, she closed the door. 

“I guess that’s what most of ’em will say,” re- 
marked Larry, who understood a little German. 

He was about to knock on the third door of the 
first floor, when a boy stuck his head out of one 
apartment, and of him Larry asked where Peter 
lived. 

“Has he a wart on his nose ?” asked the boy. 

“No,” said Larry, who knew Peter was not 
marked in any such way. 

“Does he squint with his left eye?” 

“Not that I know of.” 

“Can he turn a double somersault ?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Is one of his front teeth gone?” 

“No, his teeth are all right.” 

“Then I don’t know him. All the fellers I 
know has something the matter with ’em, or else 
they can do somethin’, I guess the feller you want 
has moved away.” 

But Larry did not want to trust to any chances. 
He went to the next floor, and made inquiries 
without success. Then he proceeded to the third 
floor. At the last apartment where he knocked 
an old man came to the door. 

“Veil, mine friendt?” he inquired, and Larry 


IN QUEST OF PETER 


2Go 


was beginning to think all the people in the house 
were German Jews. “Vat can I do for you to- 
day?” 

“Do you know Peter Manton?” asked Larry. 

“Peter vat?” 

“Peter Manton.” 

“Does he sell suspenders?” 

“Not that I ever heard of.” 

“Collar buttons, maybe yet, eh?” 

“No, I guess not.” 

“Den he keeps a store alretty yet ?” 

“I guess not.” 

“Oh, veil, den I doan knows him by yet. I 
only know peoples vat is in business. Run avay, 
leedle poy, an’ doan bodder mit a business man,” 
and then, while Larry watched him, the old fel- 
low went back, leaving his door open, and pro- 
ceeded to resume his slumbers in an easy-chair, 
whence Larry had aroused him. 

“I guess I’ll get very little information here,” 
thought the searcher. Yet he would not give up. 
Not until he had knocked at the last door did he 
get any trace, and that came when he had almost 
despaired. 

A woman answered the door, and, at the sight 
of Larry, she began to scream in a loud voice, 
and cried out: 

“Goniff! Goniff! Goniff!” 

“I’m not a thief!” exclaimed Larry, for he 
recognized the Yiddish word for robber, having 
heard it in his travels about the Jewish quarter 


266 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


of New York. “I haven’t stolen anything, and 
don’t intend to.” 

He spoke sharply, for he feared the woman’s 
cries would rouse the neighborhood, and, per- 
haps, make trouble for him. Fortunately, how- 
ever, there was much noise caused by the children 
in the street shouting, and no one appeared to 
pay much attention to the woman’s exclamations. 

In a little while, when she saw that Larry had 
no evil designs, and did not attempt to steal her 
brass candlesticks or brass samovar, or tea-brew- 
ing apparatus, her two choicest possessions, the 
woman became calmer. 

“Do you know Peter Manton?” asked Larry, 
who was beginning to tire of his own question. 

“Hass he got funny eyes alretty yet?” asked 
the woman. “Eyes not like yours, vat look one 
in the face, but eyes vat always move about 
so ” and she shifted hers rapidly. 

“Yes, he has,” replied Larry, recognizing one 
of Peter’s characteristics. 

“I know him,” the woman said. 

“Where is he?” cried Larry. 

“Come in,” the woman requested, opening the 
door wider. “You must excuse me, young gen- 
tlemans. I am all alone here, and ven you comes 
by my door I t’ou’t you vas a robbers yet. Once 
alretty dey comes and takes mine moneys. So I 
am of a carefulness when I goes py de door.” 

Then, as Larry questioned her, she told in 
broken English how Peter had once lived in the 


IN QUEST OF PETER 


267 


house on the same floor she did. She remembered 
him because he was always playing tricks on her 
little nephew who had lived with her. But Peter 
had moved away, she said, and she did not know 
where. 

“Can't you think?" begged Larry, to whom 
finding the former copy boy meant so much. 

“I vas so glad to see him go I care not where 
he lives yet," the woman answered. “But he has 
an aunt vat lives somewheres about t’ree blocks 
from here. Maybe she can tell." 

Larry got the location of Peter’s aunt, and with 
a somewhat lighter heart he set off to the ad- 
dress the Jewish woman had given him. 

He had a little difficulty in finding Mrs. Jack- 
son, the former copy boy’s aunt, as she had moved 
twice since the Jewish woman knew of her, but 
eventually Larry discovered her. At first she was 
very guarded in her answers. 

“What do you want to know for?’’ she de- 
manded. 

Then Larry told her as much of the story of 
his missing brother as he thought necessary. He 
described how he came to believe Peter had a 
hand in taking him away. 

“I always knew Peter would come to no good 
end," said his aunt. “I warned my brother to 
whip him at least once a day to make him a bet- 
ter boy, but he would not, and now see what he 
has come to. Well, if I can help you, young man, 
I will. Fd just like to get hold of Peter," and 


268 


LARRY DEXTER. , REPORTER 


she looked as though Peter’s experience under her 
administration would be anything but pleasant. 

She looked over some old letters, and from 
them got the address of Peter’s father, who had 
died some time before, leaving the boy in charge 
of a stepmother. To that address Larry went, 
only to find that the stepmother had married 
again, and gone away. Neighbors said Peter 
had not been seen about the place where he used 
to live, in some time. Larry was about to leave, 
when a boy, about his own age, who had heard 
his questions, said : 

“I know how to find him.” 

“How?” asked Larry, his heart beating high 
with hope again. “Tell me where he is.” 

“I can’t tell you where he is,” the boy an- 
swered, “but I know he hangs out in Chinatown. 
You go down there, and near the end of Pell 
Street is a Chinese grocery, with a funny image 
in the window. The image has a red stone in 
one eye, and none in the other. I know, ’cause I 
went with Peter once, when he was going to have 
me join a gang of fellers, only my mother 
wouldn’t let me. They used to meet over that 
grocery. Maybe he ain’t there now, but he used 
to be. You’ll see the image in the winder. The 
gang he belongs to was called the Red Eye 
Gang.” 

Thanking the lad for his information Larry 
hurried away. He felt that at last he was on the 
trail, and wanted to follow it up at once. He 


IN QUEST OF PETER 


269 


made his way to Chinatown, and was soon in that 
section of the city where so much crime abounds. 

He had seldom been there, for only the older 
reporters were sent on stories in that locality. It 
was not altogether safe in daytime, and at night 
it must be a bold man who would venture there 
alone. 

At first all the streets seemed made up of gro- 
ceries and Chinese laundries. Pell Street ap- 
peared to be one continuous string of them, and 
each one seemed to have some sort of an image 
or idol in the window. 

“I guess I’ll have my own troubles picking 
out the place,” thought Larry. “They all look 
alike. However, I’ll be on the watch for the one- 
eyed image.” 

He had almost reached the end of Pell Street 
when, in the window of a small store, that seemed 
to be trying to hide away from sight between two 
larger ones, he spied a big wooden idol in the 
window. Before it burned a number of Joss 
sticks, and, as Larry placed his nose against the 
pane, he discerned dimly through the smoke that 
the image had one eye, made of a red stone, but 
that the socket of the other was empty, giving an 
odd expression to the grinning face. 

“This must be the place,” thought Larry, his 
heart beating rapidly with hope. He looked up 
at the windows. They were screened with red 
curtains, and seemed never to have been washed. 
There was a door leading to a hallway at one side 


270 


LARRY DEXTER. , REPORTER 


of the grocery entrance. Larry resolved to try 
the store first. He found a fat Chinese smoking 
behind a counter. 

“Wha’ bloy wan’ ?” inquired the Celestial. 
“Glot nice clulumbler, melon sleed, ginger loot, 
nuts. Wha’ bloy want?” 

“I didn’t come to buy anything,” Larry ex- 
plained, speaking slowly, so the almond-eyed one 
could understand him. “Do you know anybody 
named Peter Manton? He’s a boy I’m looking 
for. Do you know Peter Manton ?” 

The answer of the Chinese was no less prompt 
than it was startling. He leaped to his feet, drop- 
ping his pipe to the floor, and seizing a heavy vase 
from the counter threw it straight at Larry’s head. 
The boy ducked only just in time, and the orna- 
ment was shattered against the wall. 

“I show you, Pieter Manton!” exclaimed the 
Celestial, running from behind the counter, while 
Larry, who had straightened up, after ducking 
down, did not know what to make of it at all. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


ON THE RIGHT TRACK 

“What's the matter?” asked Larry, thinking 
he might have stumbled in on a crazy man. “I 
haven’t done anything to you.” 

He did not move, more, perhaps, because it was 
so sudden, than from any bravery, and when the 
Chinese stood in front of him, shaking his fist, 
Larry maintained his ground. 

“Your name Pieter Manton?” asked the Chi- 
nese, in a high-pitched voice. 

“No, my name’s Larry Dexter,” replied our 
hero. “I want to find Peter Manton.” 

“Yo’ sure yo’ no Pieter Manton?” 

“Of course I’m sure.” 

“Then me solly,” the Celestial went on. “Me 
t’ink yo’ him. Yo’ ’scuse me?” 

“Of course,” replied Larry, seeing that a mis- 
take had been made. 

The Chinese quieted down from the rage into 
which the mention of the name Peter Manton had 
seemed to throw him. He looked Larry over 
closely, and then a smile came stealing upon his 
face. 

“No; yo’ no Pieter,” he remarked. “First me 
take yo’ fo’ him.” 


271 


272 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

U's 

“What makes you mad at him?” asked Larry, 
anxiously. 

“He blad bloy,” the Chinese went on. “He 
mlake double for Ah Moy. He have looms up 
stails, an’ him an’ odder bloys bleak windows, 
an’ make all bad. Me lose money.” 

“Did Peter use to have a clubroom here?” 
asked Larry, feeling that at last he was getting 
on the right track. 

The Chinese nodded vigorously in the affirma- 
tive. 

“Where has he gone now?” asked Larry. 

At this question the Chinese, who had seemed 
to be very frank, regarded Larry suspiciously. 
He half shut his eyes, which at the best were not 
very widely open, and asked : 

“Wha’ flo’ yo’ want know ?” 

“I want to see him.” 

“S’plose he no want see yo’?” suggested Ah 
Moy. 

That was a puzzler for Larry. He was not 
used to answering such sharp questions as the 
Chinese put, and he could not understand the Ce- 
lestial’s sudden interest in the welfare of Peter, 
when, before, the Oriental had appeared to want 
to punish the lad. 

“Well, I want to see him, even if he doesn’t 
want to see me,” replied Larry, at length. 

“He glot some yo’ money?” 

Arguing that the deed might be considered 
money, as it represented a large sum, and feeling 


ON THE RIGHT TRACK 


273 


sure that if Peter did not have it, he knew where 
it was, Larry replied : 

“Peter has some of my money.” 

“If me tell yo’ where Pieter is, yo’ give me 
some money ?” asked Ah Moy. 

“What for?” Larry was trying to gain time 
to think. 

“He make me lose tlee dollar bleakin’ my win- 
dlow,” the Chinese went on. “He an’ odder bloys 
what are in club. He no pay me. Maybe yo’ 
pay me.” 

“If you tell me where to find Peter I’ll give 
you the three dollars,” Larry answered, thinking 
it would be a sum spent in a good cause. 

“All light,” announced Ah Moy, cheerfully. 
“Give me money.” 

“Here it is,” replied Larry, producing the bills, 
and holding them where the Chinese could see 
them. “Now you tell me.” 

Ah Moy leaned forward, first taking care to 
look out toward the street, and see that no one 
was headed for his store. Then he whispered : 

“Yo’ find door where Lising Sun painted, an’ 
yo’ find Pieter, an’ maybe somebody else, liT 
feller what cly all time.” 

“Do you mean my little brother?” exclaimed 
Larry, in great excitement. 

“Give me money!” cried Ah Moy, snatching 
the bills from Larry’s hand. “Me tell yo’ where 
yo’ go. Look for Lising Sun, an’ you find Pieter 
Now go. Me no like to have yo’ here !” 


274 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


Then, before Larry could make any objections, 
if he had thought to do so, the Celestial grabbed 
the boy by the shoulders, and thrust him, though 
not very roughly, out of the front door and into 
the street. Larry heard Ah Moy close and lock 
the portal behind him, and realized the Chinese 
had taken an effective method of getting rid of 
him. 

“Well, of all the queer proceedings,” remarked 
Larry. “I seem to be getting deeper and deeper 
into the mystery.” 

He turned to look at the one-eyed image, but 
Ah Moy had pulled down the shades, and the 
place had every appearance of being deserted. 

“The rising sun,” murmured Larry. “I won- 
der what he meant. Seems to me that’s what 
they call China or Japan, I’ve forgotten which. 
I hope they haven’t taken Jimmy away off there.” 

His heart grew cold at the thought, but he 
reassured himself that the gang would hardly go 
to that length, particularly as they might want to 
produce the little fellow at short notice. 

“Maybe it’s some place in Chinatown,” rea- 
soned the young reporter. “I must find out, but 
I’ll have to go slow.” 

From what Ah Moy had told him it seemed 
that the doings of Chinatown were known to 
most of the members of the under-world. Conse- 
quently, if he began making inquiries, the news 
would be communicated to the members of the 
gang. If they heard someone was on their trail 


ON THE RIGHT TRACK 275 

they might depart to another hiding-place, and 
make it all the harder to locate them. 

“I must ask of someone who is not a Chinese,” 
thought Larry. “Maybe the Rising Sun is the 
name of some sort of a club. That’s what I’ll 
do!” he exclaimed, as he suddenly became pos- 
sessed of an idea. “I’ll pretend I’m looking for 
a club of that name, and I’ll ask the first Ameri- 
can storekeeper I meet.” 

Larry walked slowly along the street. The 
thoroughfare seemed filled with Celestials, with 
their wide trousers and wider-sleeved blouses, 
tramping along in their thick-soled shoes, but 
there seemed to be a great scarcity of Americans. 
Looking about him for an establishment kept by 
someone other than an almond-eyed individual, 
Larry espied a block or so away, the sign of three 
golden balls suspended in the air. 

“There’s a pawnbroker’s,” thought Larry. 
“He’s sure to be something else besides a Chi- 
nese. I’ll try him.” 

Much attracted by the curious sights on every 
side, Larry proceeded down the street. He looked 
into the pawnbroker’s shop before entering, but 
as the glass door was painted, he could discern 
nothing. 

“Well, here goes,” remarked Larry to himself. 
“We’ll see what sort of information I can get.” 

He opened the door softly, and stepped into 
the place. In front of the counter stood a man 
who seemed to be bargaining with the pawn- 


276 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


broker over the amount to be loaned on an article. 
They were so occupied with their business that 
they did not notice the young reporter’s entrance. 

“You ought to give me more than twenty dol- 
lars,” the customer was saying. 

“Fifteen is all; take it or leave it,” was the 
pawnbroker’s answer. “It is a cheap ring.” 

“But the diamond in the tail is worth more 
than that,” the man went on, “and the rubies in 
the eyes are worth twice as much. Come on, 
now, Isaacs, let me have twenty dollars, that’s a 
good fellow. I’m hard up, and the gang is up 
against bad luck.” 

Something seemed to tell Larry he was on the 
track of those whom he sought, but for an in- 
stant he could not fathom what it was. There 
seemed to be a clew in the mention of a dia- 
mond in the tail and rubies in the eyes. 

“I know !” the young reporter thought, almost 
exclaiming aloud in his excitement. “It’s the 
ring Mr. Reynolds told me about. The one that 
was stolen from him, and which he wished to 
recover because it was an heirloom.” 

He drew a little closer to where the man was 
standing, hoping to get a look at the jewel. Nor 
was he disappointed. The pawnbroker, who had 
apparently made his last offer, handed something 
to the customer. The latter’s hand shook so he 
dropped the article on the floor, and it rolled al- 
most to Larry’s feet. The lad picked it up. He 
saw that it was a ring, made in the shape of a 


ON THE RIGHT TRACK 


277 


snake, with three coils. In the end of the tail was 
a diamond, and the eyes were formed of rubies. 
It was exactly like the ornament Mr. Reynolds 
had described. 

Larry’s heart was beating so he was afraid the 
men would hear it. However, he managed to 
hand the ring back to the customer, who was too 
much engrossed in the transaction to notice 
Larry. 

“Well, Isaacs,” the man remarked, handing the 
ring over to the pawnbroker, “I’ll take the fif- 
teen dollars, but it’s little enough. I’ll be getting 
it out again in a few days. Make out the ticket.” 

Larry walked back to the door while the broker 
was concluding the transaction. He wondered 
what he had better do. Here was a chance to 
get on the track of the Reynolds jewel robbers, 
but to accomplish this he would have to give up, 
for a time, the search after his brother. 

“Unless the two gangs should prove to be one 
and the same,” thought Larry, with a sudden in- 
spiration. “I wonder if that couldn’t be so. The 
safe-robbers and the kidnappers are all together; 
why not the jewel thieves? I think I’ll chance it, 
anyhow. I’ll follow this man, and see if I can’t 
find out where he stays. I can find out about the 
Rising Sun place later.” 

With this in mind, Larry softly slipped out of 
the door, and stationed himelf in a nearby hall- 
way, to stay until the man came from the pawn- 
shop. He had not long to wait, for in a few min- 


278 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


utes the man emerged, and the young reporter 
set off after him. 

Larry had never had much experience in 
“shadowing” people, as the detectives call fol- 
lowing a man, and not letting him know he 
is under surveillance. But the lad had often 
gone hunting when in the country, and had 
learned how to track wild animals. Of course, 
it was different in the city, but some of the prin- 
ciples held true. 

Letting the man who had pawned the ring get 
about half a block ahead, Larry started after him. 
The fellow did not seem to be on the lookout, but 
walked on rapidly, paying no attention to persons 
or objects he passed in the street. 

Through several thoroughfares in Chinatown 
the chase led, until Larry finally found himself in 
the very worst section of that very bad part of 
New York. The buildings were old and tumble- 
down, and in spite of the sunlight overhead, it 
seemed dark and gloomy. 

The man came to a pause in front of a certain 
house. He looked all about him, and Larry saw 
his glance in time to dodge into a hallway. Then 
the man disappeared into the building. Larry 
glided forward, and was about to follow him, 
when from the place several Chinese leaped out, 
yelling shrilly. 

At the same time a fusillade of revolver shots 
rang out, and the yells increased. All at once 
it seemed that the street was full of Chinese. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


CLOSING IN 

“Crack ! Crack ! Crack !” 

Those were the revolvers barking, and spitting 
fire. 

“Hi! Ki! Yi! Yee! Yip!” 

That was the frightened Celestials singing out. 
Those who were not yelling like cats and dogs 
combined, were firing revolvers. They seemed to 
have no object in view except to fire, shutting 
their eyes, and pulling the trigger, while the 
weapon was aimed in any and all directions. 

One of those sudden and inexplainable shoot- 
ing affairs for which Chinatown is noted, and 
which are precipitated by secret society hatreds, 
was on. 

From around the corner of the street, as if by 
magic, appeared another band of Chinese. They 
began firing at the throng that poured from the 
building where the man who had pawned the 
snake ring, had entered. Larry dodged into a 
doorway, out of reach of any stray bullets. 

Little damage seemed to be done by the shoot- 
ing, as the Celestials fired without any particular 
aim. Yet one or two were hit by the bullets, and 
ran about the streets howling with pain. 

279 


280 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


The riot had been in progress about two min- 
utes before any police arrived. Then a squad of 
them swung into the thoroughfare, and with 
drawn clubs sprang into the midst of the mob of 
Chinese. The stout sticks thumped on many a 
pigtailed head, and soon the yells of rage were 
turned into shouts of dismay. 

The shooting died away, and the Orientals 
scampered like rats back to their holes. Two or 
three who had received bullets in their legs, were 
lying in the middle of the street. Then came a 
couple of patrol wagons and an ambulance, into 
which the wounded were lifted, and quick trips 
made to hospitals. The police took several pris- 
oners, who were taken to the station-house, and 
then — the street became quiet again. 

Save for a few revolvers which the owners had 
thrown away, there remained no sign of the riot, 
and Larry could hardly believe that he had wit- 
nessed it. It seemed like a dream. 

“I must telephone the paper about it,” he 
thought. “Then I’ll keep on after that man.” 

Noting the address of the house into which the 
pawner of the ring had vanished, Larry went 
back to the Bowery, where he found a public 
telephone, and was soon in communication with 
Mr. Ember g. 

“You stay where you are until I can send one 
of the reporters down to see you,” the city editor 
said. “You can tell him what happened, and he 
can write the story. Then you can go on with 


CLOSING IN 


281 


your hunt. I hope you’ll succeed. Do you need 
any help ?” 

“I guess I can get along for a while yet,” an- 
swered Larry. “I only want to locate a certain 
place, and then I’ll get Mr. Newton to advise me.” 

He waited in the telephone station until the 
reporter from the Leader arrived. Then, accom- 
panied by him, Larry went back to Chinatown. 
The other reporter got a lot of information about 
the riot, and, with what Larry had told him, soon 
had enough for a good lively story. 

“Now here goes to see what’s in that house,” 
murmured Larry, when the reporter had left him. 
“I hope I get on the track of the Rising Sun. I 
wonder what it means, anyhow.” 

Not without some little fear did he enter the 
dark hallway. It was not a pleasant place. There 
were odd and noisome smells, for the place, like 
most of those in Chinatown, was more or less of 
an opium joint. Then there was the odor of the 
Joss sticks burning in a sort of improvised tem- 
ple in the rear of the first floor. 

Up the stairs Larry went. He hardly knew 
what he was going to do, nor, if he was ques- 
tioned by anyone, did he know what he would 
say. He was trusting to luck. As he passed 
through the dimly-lighted halls a door would 
open here and there, and the head of a Chi- 
nese would be poked out. But the portal was 
quickly closed again when the owner of the head 
saw it was an American youth. 


282 LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 

After a riot such as had just transpired, the 
Chinese had no desire to answer embarrassing 
questions such as they knew the Americans asked. 
The Americans were too curious, the Celestials 
thought. So it was best to stay in one’s room, and 
pretend not to hear or see anything. Thus Larry 
was not interfered with or molested, as he might 
have been on another occasion. 

Though he had no definite object in view, 
Larry had an idea he might chance on some evi- 
dence as to where the man lived who had pawned 
the ring, or might discover some trace of the sign 
of the Rising Sun. He looked about on the walls 
and doors of the halls. There were many devices 
painted thereon. Dragons, snakes, strange birds, 
and grinning heads. 

“I guess I’ll go back and tell Mr. Newton,” 
thought Larry. “He’ll know how to go about 
this better than I do.” 

However, there remained the third and top 
floor hall to inspect, and Larry climbed the stairs 
to that. He walked from the front to the rear. 

“Nothing here, I guess,” he murmured. 

Then, with a sudden beating of his heart, he 
caught sight, on the door of a room at the end 
of the corridor, of a crudely-painted rising sun, 
with red and yellow rays radiating from it, as it 
was coming up from behind a mountain. 

“This must be the place !” exclaimed the young 
reporter under his breath. 

The next instant he heard from behind the door 



THE STOUT STICKS THUMPED ON MANY A PIGTAILED HEAD. 
Larry Dexter, Reporter 





CLOSING IN 


283 


a cry as of someone in pain or distress, and to 
Larry the voice sounded like that of his kid- 
napped brother. 

“I wonder — I wonder if Jimmy can be in 
there !” he gasped. 

Once more the stifled cry sounded, and Larry’s 
heart almost stopped beating. He was sure he 
had found his brother. He sprang forward, and 
rapped loudly on the door. Instantly there 
sounded a shuffling of feet from behind the portal. 
Then all grew still. 

“Let me in !” cried Larry. 

He paused for a reply. Then he knocked again, 
and kicked with his feet on the door, but no one 
answered, and the sturdy oaken portal was not 
opened. Larry was much excited. He wanted 
to break down the barrier, and see what was be- 
yond it. He wanted to rush in, and, if his brother 
was there, to tear him away from the men who 
had kidnapped him. 

“I’d better go for help,” Larry said to himself, 
at length. “I can’t do anything alone. Anyhow, 
I’ve located the Rising Sun crowd. I’d better 
not make too much of a fuss, or they’ll suspect 
I’m after them, and move away.” 

He hurried downstairs, wishing he could find 
Mr. Newton at once, instead of waiting until 
night, when the older reporter had promised 
Larry to call at the Dexter house. 

“I suppose he’s trailing the end from the sign 
of the blue hand,” thought Larry. 


284 


LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 


He had half a mind to see if he could not lo- 
cate the gang’s former headquarters, but he 
feared that the quest might lead him into trouble. 
Also, he did not want to spoil any plans Mr. New- 
ton had made. 

“I guess the only thing I can do is to wait un- 
til to-night,” mused Larry, “though I hate to go 
home without good news, no matter how little.” 

But he knew it was the best thing to do, and 
he was soon at his house, relating to his mother 
and Lucy what he had experienced. 

“Do you really think he’s there?” asked Mrs. 
Dexter. 

“I’m almost certain,” replied Larry. “Just 
you wait, mother. I’m sure we’ll have Jimmy be- 
fore another day goes by.” 

“I only wish I could believe so,” remarked 
Mrs. Dexter, wiping the tears from her eyes. 

In the meanwhile, Mr. Newton had gone to the 
former headquarters of the gang that had rooms 
behind the door with the blue hand on it. As he 
feared, the place was deserted, and no one in the 
neighborhood knew anything about where the 
former occupants had gone, or, if they did, they 
would not tell. In Chinatown it is the policy of 
fhe inhabitants to relate just as little as they can. 

With all his reporter’s experience in tracing 
matters, with all the skill which long association 
with the police and detectives had given him, Mr. 
Newton sought to locate some member of the 
blue-handed gang to learn where their head- 


CLOSING IN 


2 85 


quarters were now. But all to no avail. Even 
the advertisement Larry had inserted, agreeing 
to sign the deed, was not answered. 

“I hope Larry is having better luck than I am,” 
mused the reporter. “I’m beat, I’m afraid. Guess 
I’ll drop in here, and get a cigar. Maybe it will 
help me to think of some plan l haven’t tried 
yet.” 

There was a tobacco store nearby, and going 
in, Mr. Newton purchased something to smoke. 
While the proprietor was getting the change Mr. 
Newton’s attention was attracted to the sound of 
voices in a rear room. 

“If one of them isn’t Alderman Beacham and 
the other Samuel Snyder, that rascally lawyer, 
I’m very much mistaken,” thought Mr. Newton. 
“I wonder what they’re having a confab in here 
for? Up to some political trick, I suppose, and 
they’re afraid to talk it over at City Hall.” 

He could not help overhearing some of the 
things that were said, and as the words came to 
him he gave a sudden start. 

“So that’s the game, eh?” he murmured. “No 
wonder they want that deed. By the Great Horn 
Spoon ! but I think I’m on the right track now !” 

By this time the proprietor returned with the 
change, but Mr. Newton was in no hurry to go. 
He pretended he wanted to buy a pipe, and, while 
examining the cigar-dealer’s stock, he kept his 
ears open for anything more that might issue 
from the rear room. He could only catch a stray 


286 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


word now and again, but what he heard gave 
him much satisfaction. 

Finally he made a selection of a pipe, and paid 
for it. Leaving the store he hurried off, a smile 
displacing the former discouraged look his face 
had worn. 

“I wonder why I never thought of that be- 
fore !” he exclaimed, softly. “That’s what the 
Aldermanic Committee has been meeting in se- 
cret so often for. That’s the reason they would 
never admit that any business was done. My! 
but this is going to be a big thing ! I can see a 
fine story in it, and maybe a beat. I can see some- 
thing good for Larry, too, and if it doesn’t bring 
his brother back, and land some people in jail, 
I’m going to miss my guess,” and Mr. Newton 
felt so elated over the discovery he had accident- 
ally made that he felt like hopping and skipping 
along the street. Thinking that would hardly be 
in keeping with the dignity of a reporter, how- 
ever, he fell to whistling to relieve his spirits, 
and warbled forth tuneful strains from a comic 
opera, as being most appropriate. 

“Now to see Larry, and tell him the good 
news,” thought Mr. Newton. “We’ll have to 
make careful plans to close in on the gang. The 
only thing lacking is to know where they are, 
but with what I know I’ll have no trouble finding 
them. Whoop ! I feel like a boy again !” 

He went to the Dexter home, where, though he 
did not .expect it, he found Larry. It was late in 


CLOSING IN 


287 


the afternoon, and Mr. Newton was tired with 
his quest. 

‘‘Any news?” he asked Larry. 

“A little. How about you?” 

“Everything we could wish for. Larry, my 
boy, I think we’ve got ’em. We’ll nab ’em inside 
of two days.” 

“And will you get Jimmy back?” asked Mrs. 
Dexter. 

“The first thing!” exclaimed Mr. Newton. 

Then he and Larry told each other their ex- 
periences, and prepared their plans for closing in 
on the gang. They could not imagine why there 
was no answer to the personal they had inserted, 
but, as it afterward developed, none of the gang 
had seen it, not counting on it being put in so 
soon after the kidnapping. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


NEARING THE END 

Jimmy, who had fretted all day, cried so much 
the second night of his captivity that Peter and 
Noddy were much alarmed. They tried their best 
to comfort the lad, but he continued to weep, and 
demanded to be taken to his mother and Larry. 

“Can’t you amuse him in some way?” the blue- 
handed man asked of Peter. 

“I’ve done my best,” replied the former copy 
boy. “He’s homesick, that’s what’s the matter.” 

“And small blame to him,” put in Noddy. “It’s 
a bad business all around, and I’m worried over 
how we’ll come out of it. If the kid keeps on 
crying there’ll be talk in the neighborhood, and 
that may lead to an investigation. Besides he’ll 
make himself sick, and we’ll have to send for a 
doctor. That would give the game away.” 

“We can get a Chink doctor,” spoke Peter. 

“Yes, and have him give the kid some ground- 
up snails, or pieces of birds’ nests,” exclaimed 
Noddy. “No, sir, no Chinese quack is going to 
monkey with the lad. If we have to have a doc- 
tor we’ll get a good one, even though it spoils 
the game. I’m not going to be responsible for 
the lad’s taking a bad turn, and maybe dying.” 

288 


NEARING THE END 


289 


“Do you think there’s any danger?” asked 
Peter, who was beginning to wish he had never 
had anything to do with the gang. 

“You can never tell what kids are going to do. 
Wait, I’ll try to tell him a story. I used to be 
quite a hand at it when — when my youngster 
was alive,” and Noddy gulped down a hard lump 
in his throat. Bad as he was, he still had a tender 
spot in his heart for his dead child. 

“Come on, Jimmy,” the blue-handed man said 
to the captive. “I’m going to tell you about a 
bear.” 

“Can’t you tell me about a giant?” demanded 
the lad. 

“Well, I guess so,” and then Noddy related a 
tale about a big giant who used to keep his cap- 
tives in a terrible castle. 

“You’re a sort of giant, ain’t you?” asked 
Jimmy of Noddy. 

“No. What makes you ask that?” 

“Because you’ve got hands like Blue Beard, 
and you keep me here, and won’t let me go 
home.” 

“No, I’m not quite as bad as that,” said Noddy, 
“but I’m bad enough, the land knows. I’d let 
you go home if I could. Maybe we can, to-mor- 
row or next day. I wish Larry would give in to 
the gang, or else come here and take the kid,” 
the blue-handed man muttered, in a low tone. 

It required several stories before Jimmy could 
be comforted, and made to forget his troubles. 


290 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


He fell asleep under the influence of a fine big 
Chinese drum that the blue-handed man promised 
would be given him the next day. 

“Well, I’m glad he’s in slumberland,” re- 
marked Noddy, as he covered Jimmy up in bed. 
“I couldn’t stand this very long.” 

That evening several members of the gang 
came in, and Noddy laid the case before them. 

“It’s all right for you fellows,” he said, “but 
you don’t have to stay here all day and amuse the 
kid, and keep him from crying for his mother. 
If I only had to go out and do things the way 
you do I wouldn’t mind it.” 

“Well, you’ll have to stay shut up for a while 
longer, on account of your hands,” remarked 
Perkins. “It can’t be very long now. I wouldn’t 
wonder but there’d be a personal in to-morrow 
morning’s papers, saying Larry and his mother 
had agreed to sign the deed. That will end the 
whole matter.” 

“Well, I only hope it does,” growled Noddy. 
“It’s the last trick of this kind you get me into.” 

“Brace up!” exclaimed Perkins. “You’re a 
little down in the mouth now. When you get 
your share out of the deal you’ll be satisfied. I 
guess the game is almost up now. There should 
have been a personal in before this.” But fate 
had so ordered that the one Larry and Mr. New- 
ton inserted was not seen. 

“Suppose you don’t hear from Larry?” asked 
Noddy. 


NEARING THE END 


291 


“If we don’t inside of three days,” answered 
Perkins, “we’re going ahead on a brand-new 
plan.” 

“What is it?” 

“We’ll simply condemn the land, and then we’ll 
get it for almost nothing. Only that process is 
a little slow, and we’re in a hurry. Snyder and 
Beacham had a talk on the matter somewhere to- 
day, I understand, and decided the thing could 
be kept secret no longer. The news will be out 
in a week at the most, so whatever is done must 
be done quickly.” 

The men talked over various other matters, 
and then, as the hour was growing late, they de- 
parted, leaving Peter and Noddy in charge of 
Jimmy. 

“Better turn in,” advised the blue-handed man 
to Peter. 

“Guess I will,” said the former copy boy. “I’m 
going to get up early, and get a morning paper to 
see if Larry has put a personal in.” 

While he was getting ready for bed Noddy 
went in to look at Jimmy. He found the lad’s 
face wet with tears. 

“Poor little chap,” remarked Noddy. “I wish 
I was out of this game.” 

Then he, too, went to bed, and there was si- 
lence in the headquarters of the Rising Sun gang, 
broken only by the breathing of the sleepers. 
Outside the hum and confusion of Chinatown 
went on in the semi-darkness. 


292 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


Meanwhile Larry and Mr. Newton had been 
planning away. They had told each other their 
experiences, and Mr. Newton was glad to learn 
that Larry had located the headquarters of the 
gang. 

“I can’t understand the man from the pawn- 
shop going in there, however/’ commented the 
older reporter. “He may be mixed up with the 
gang, but it hardly seems possible that the jewel 
robbers, the safe-crackers, and the kidnappers are 
all members of one organization. However, if 
it’s so, so much the better.” 

“Why?” 

“Because we’ll bag them all at once, and kill 
two or three birds with one stone. Now let’s see 
what we’d better do first.” 

“Did you ever hear of the Rising Sun gang,” 
asked Larry. 

“Many times. They’re about as bad as any 
crowd that infests New York.” 

“Why not get a lot of police officers, and raid 
the place?” suggested Larry. 

“It would be all right if we could guard every 
entrance,” said Mr. Newton. “But they have 
half a dozen, and they’d be sure to escape through 
one or the other.” 

“How are you going to do it, then?” 

“I think we’ll resort to a little strategy,” said 
the older reporter. “We’ll insert another per- 
sonal, directed to the blue-handed man, asking 
where we can go to sign the deed. They evi- 


NEARING THE END 


293 


dently missed that first one. It was put in before 
they expected it.” 

“But do you really want me to sign the deed ?” 
asked Larry. 

“Not for the world. We’ll simply ask them 
where we can meet them to sign it. We’re not 
promising to do what they want. I’ll write the 
advertisement out now, and we can put it in all 
the morning papers.” 

“After that, what?” 

“We’ll wait for an answer, and then we’ll be 
guided by what occurs next.” 

So the advertisement, carefully worded, was 
prepared, and Mr. Newton took it to an agent 
who made a business of inserting notices in all 
the New York papers. 

When this had been done it was evening, and, 
as there seemed to be little chance of accomplish- 
ing anything more that night, Mr. Newton ad- 
vised Larry to go to bed and get a good night’s 
sleep. 

“Perhaps I’d better stay around in the neigh- 
borhood of the gang’s headquarters,” suggested 
Larry. “They might take Jimmy away during 
the night.” 

“Not much danger of that,” replied Mr. New- 
ton. “If they wanted to smuggle him away, all 
the watching you could do would not stop it. 
The best way is to let them think they’re safe, and 
that we know nothing about them. They proba- 
bly will do nothing for a few more days.” 


294 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


So the same night that Jimmy, in Noddy’s 
room, cried himself to sleep, Larry went to bed in 
his own home, his head full of thoughts of the 
rescue he hoped would soon be accomplished. 

The next morning Peter went out early, and 
got several papers. He and Noddy carefully 
scanned the personal columns, and among the first 
items that met their eyes was the advertisement 
Larry and Mr. Newton had inserted. 

“Here it is!” cried Noddy. “He’s come to 
terms at last. I’m glad of it, for I want to see 
the kid taken home. Now, Peter, you hurry off, 
and tell as many members of our society as you 
can find to come here at once, and we’ll decide 
on a plan of action.” 

Making a hasty breakfast Peter left the Rising 
Sun room, and soon had delivered Noddy’s mes- 
sage to several members of the gang. They were 
surprised at the news, but agreed to come to head- 
quarters and talk the matter over, also to decide 
what would be best to do. 

While Jimmy was kept in one of the rear 
rooms, amused over the big Chinese drum which 
Noddy had borrowed for him from the little Ori- 
ental theater nearby, the members of the or- 
ganization held a consultation. 

“I say, let him come here,” suggested Perkins. 
“We can do the thing here better than anywhere 
else. Let him bring his mother’s consent in writ- 
ing, to his signing the deed, and let her send a 
note agreeing that she will sign it later 


NEARING THE END 


295 


on. Then let Larry come here alone. Send him a 
note stating that he will be watched from the time 
he leaves his house until he gets here. If he stops 
to speak to anyone, or if he brings anyone with 
him, the fact will be immediately telephoned to 
us, and the whole thing will be off.” 

“Meaning what?” asked Noddy. 

“Meaning that we’ll hide the kid where he’ll 
never be found.” 

“No, you don’t!” exclaimed Noddy. 

“That’s all right, Noddy,” spoke Randall, in 
soothing tones. “There’ll be no doubt but that 
Larry will agree to the terms. If he doesn’t we’ll 
not hurt the kid. I’m just as fond of him as you 
are. Don’t make trouble now.” 

“Well, I’ll agree, as long as nothing bad hap- 
pens to the little fellow,” stipulated the blue- 
handed man. 

So it was arranged, and a note, making all the 
conditions specified, was sent to Larry. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


THE RAID 

The note was delivered by mail to Larry the 
following day. It named Friday, two days hence, 
as the time, and one o’clock in the afternoon, as 
the hour. 

“Well, that’s the best time to have it happen,” 
remarked Mr. Newton, when shown the missive. 
“But there are some things that are going to 
make it hard.” 

“What makes you say the hour is a good one?” 
asked Larry. 

“Because, if we arrange matters right, we can 
raid ’em in time for the last edition of the Leader, 
and get a beat.” 

“That’s so; I didn’t think about that part of 
it,” Larry remarked. “I was only anxious about 
Jimmy. But what is going to make it hard?” 

“Well, I didn’t count on them taking so many 
precautions,” answered the older reporter. “I 
thought you and I could go together, and I fig- 
ured on being able to have several detectives sta- 
tioned near by ready to break into the place, as 
soon as I gave the signal. But now it’s got to be 
done differently.” 

“If they see you start for their place with aay- 
296 


THE RAID 


297 


one they’ll spirit Jimmy away, and probably hide 
him where we’ll never find him. So you’ll have 
to go to the place alone.” 

“I’m not afraid,” observed Larry. 

“No, I suppose not, but it upsets my plan. Then 
again, I wanted to get a sort of preliminary look 
at the place. From what little I can learn about 
the Rising Sun gang they have a number of ex- 
its at their headquarters. We’ll have to guard 
them all ; but how can we, if we don’t know where 
to look for them?” 

“That’s so,” agreed Larry. “It’s going to be 
harder than I thought. Couldn’t we get enough 
police to surround the whole block ?” 

“We could, but there are two objections to that 
plan. One is that if we attempt to operate on 
such a large scale, some hint of our plans will 
leak out. There are always some leaks in the 
police department. The other objection is that 
some of their exits are probably underground, 
and a man, or several of them, might emerge 
somewhere in the middle of the next block. No, 
the only thing to do is to find where all the exits 
are, and I don’t see how I’m going to do it.” 

“I’ve got it!” exclaimed Larry. “There’s Ah 
Moy, the Chinese who told me about the rising 
sun sign on the door.” 

“Oh, yes; I had forgotten. Well, if we could 
prevail on him, and he could get us the informa- 
tion, it might do.” 

“I’m pretty sure he’d help us, if we paid him,” 


298 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

said Larry. “But I don’t know for sure whether 
he knows all about the place.” 

“We can soon find out,” remarked Mr. New- 
ton. “I’ll see him right away, and offer him a 
good sum.” 

It was several hours before Mr. Newton re- 
turned. Larry was anxiously waiting for him, 
and when the older reporter entered the room 
in Larry’s house where the planning was going 
on, Larry burst out with : 

“Will Ah Moy do it?” 

“He surely will!” said Mr. Newton. “I had 
to argue with him a good while, though. It seems 
he is afraid of the gang, as he once belonged to 
it, but got out of it for some reason or other. 
But, luckily enough, he knows the layout of the 
rooms as well as he knows how to read a Chinese 
laundry ticket, which is no joke. He drew a 
rough sort of a plan for me, and with that I think 
I can get ahead of the gang. Now, Larry, I’ll 
tell you what I think we’d better do. When I 
get through, if you have anything better to pro- 
pose, don’t hesitate to say so. 

“In the first place, now that I know where all 
the exits are, and they are seven in number, I 
can arrange to have a detective placed at each 
one. Luckily, they are some distance apart, so 
stationing men in plain clothes at them will not 
attract attention. As I surmised, there is one 
exit on a separate block from the one where the 
building is. 


THE RAID 


299 


“At the appointed time you’ll start for the 
gang’s headquarters. You’ll go all alone, but 
I’ll be close behind you,” went on Mr. Newton. 

“Won’t they see you?” 

“I think not. For the first time in my life I’m 
going to disguise myself a bit. I’ll wear a false 
beard. Well, you’ll enter the room, just as their 
note tells you. What will happen inside, of course, 
I can’t say. You’ll have to be governed by cir- 
cumstances. But don’t be afraid, and don’t for- 
get that help will be near. When you call out I’ll 
break in the door, and give the signal for the de- 
tectives to close in.” 

“Maybe you’ll not be able to hear me shout,” 
Larry suggested. “It’s quite a ways to the 
street.” 

“I’ll be in the hallway,” said Mr. Newton. 
“But, at the same time, perhaps a revolver shot 
would be a better signal. You can take a pistol 
with blank cartridges in it. That will do as well 
as one with bullets, and then no one will be shot 
by accident, for, though the gang is bad enough, 
we don’t want any serious results, if we can help 
it.” 

“Then you’ll come to my aid when I fire one 
shot?” asked Larry. 

“That’s the idea.” 

“But how are you going to get into the hallway 
without being seen? They are going to keep 
strict watch, I imagine.” 

“Leave that to me. Now is there anything you 


300 LARRY DEXTER , REPORTER 

don’t understand, or anything you would 
change ?” 

“I guess I understand it all,” spoke Larry, 
“and I wouldn’t alter a single bit of it. I wish 
it was time to go now.” 

“I don’t,” remarked Mr. Newton, with a laugh. 
“I’ve got too much to do to have the raid happen 
until the appointed time. But when that comes, 
I’ll be ready for it.” 

The rest of that day and part of the next Mr. 
Newton found all too short for what he had to 
do. He made many trips, and saw a number of 
persons, taking care to see that he was not fol- 
lowed, especially when he went to police head- 
quarters. One visit he made late at night, and 
that was to a costumer’s, where he bought a wig 
and false beard. 

On the morning of Friday, the day planned for 
the raid, Mr. Newton spent some time at City 
Hall. He was closeted with the mayor and sev- 
eral of the city officials, and the result of his in- 
terviews seemed to be satisfactory. 

At last the hour arrived when Larry was to 
set out from his house for the headquarters of 
the gang. His mother bade him a tearful good- 
by, and Lucy, as she kissed him, told him she 
was sure it would all come out right. 

If Larry was watched or followed, he was not 
able to detect it, though he had no doubt the gang 
had some one of its members “shadowing” him. 
He reached Chinatown. The streets, as usual, 


THE RAID 


301 


were filled with shuffling Orientals, who seemed 
to have no particular object in view. Larry 
looked to see if he could catch a sight of Mr. 
Newton, or any of the detectives, but none was in 
sight. 

He reached the building, and, with a heart that 
beat wildly in spite of his efforts to remain calm, 
he started up the stairs. He felt to see if the re- 
volver was safe in the outside pocket of his coat. 
Mr. Newton had told him to place it there, and 
to fire it while the weapon was inside the pocket, 
since to draw it might cause some hasty action on 
the part of some member of the gang. 

Larry gave a timid tap at the door with the 
rising sun painted on it. The portal instantly 
swung back, though no one appeared, and a voice 
called out: 

“Come in, Larry.” 

The young reporter entered. He found him- 
self in a sort of corridor, at the end of which was 
a room, brightly-lighted, in spite of the fact that 
it was broad daylight outside. 

“Go on into the room,” the voice directed, and 
Larry walked forward. 

He found a number of men seated about a ta- 
ble. One wore gloves, and as they were not fast- 
ened, Larry had a glimpse of the hands they cov- 
ered. The skin on them was blue, and Larry 
knew that at last he had run the blue-handed man 
to his lair. The others, and there were five of 
them, glanced sharply at the boy. 


302 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


“Well, I see you’ve agreed to our terms,” said 
Perkins, who acted as spokesman. 

“Yes,” said Larry, his voice trembling a little. 
“Where is my brother?” 

“He’s safe,” was the reply. “You stick to 
your part of the agreement, and we will to ours. 
Where is your mother’s note ?” 

Larry began fumbling in his pocket. At the 
same time, with wildly-beating heart, he was 
wondering whether he should give the signal for 
help. He did not quite know how to proceed. 

“Come, the note!” said Perkins, impatiently. 

Just at that instant a roughly-dressed man, 
with a plumber’s kit of tools on his shoulder, was 
entering the hallway downstairs. As he crossed 
the threshold, another man, with a long scar on 
his face, lurched forward, and remarked : 

“No one allowed in here.” 

“I’m the plumber, sent to fix a leaky pipe,” 
announced the one with the tools, as he brushed 
past the man who sought to bar his progress. 

Moving quickly but silently, the man with the 
plumber’s tools came to a halt in front of the door 
with the rising sun on it. 

“This is the place. Now to wait until I hear 
a shot,” he said, softly. “I hope the detectives 
are all in their places.” 

Larry continued to fumble for the note. He 
wanted to gain time, and likewise he wanted to 
see the deed produced, since he knew it must be 
hidden somewhere in the room. 


THE RAID 


303 


“HI sign it now, and my mother can later,' ” 
spoke Larry. 

“That was not the agreement !” said Perkins, 
sharply. “Are you trying to trick us ?” 

At that instant there came a cry : 

“Larry! Larry! I want Larry!” 

“It’s Jimmy!” burst out Larry. “Where are 
you, Jimmy?” 

“Get him out of here! He’s trying to trick 
us!” shouted Perkins. Larry made a dash for 
the room whence his brother’s voice had sounded. 
Perkins jumped up to bar his progress. At the 
same time all the others in the room rose from 
their chairs. 

Larry thrust his hand into the pocket contain- 
ing the revolver. Without drawing the weapon 
he fired. 

At the sound of the report Perkins yelled : 

“We’re trapped! Every man for himself! 
Scatter! I’ll take the kid!” 

At that instant, as the sound of the report came 
to him, the man with the plumber’s kit of tools, 
who had been standing outside the door, drew 
from the bundle a short but heavy hammer, and 
with one blow smashed the lock. 

As the portal flew open he leaped inside, at 
the same time blowing shrilly on a whistle he 
placed to his mouth. 

“This is the time Harvey Newton does a bit of 
real detective work !” he cried, smiling grimly as 
he dashed toward the lighted room. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


WHAT THE OLD DEED BROUGHT 

The place was a scene of confusion. The men 
were trying to escape, each seeking one of the 
several secret exits. Perkins dashed toward the 
room whence the cry of the child had proceeded. 

Larry, whose first thought was to rescue 
Jimmy, watched this man. He saw him emerge 
from the apartment, with the captive under his 
arm. 

“Drop him !” cried the young reporter, leaping 
on the back of Perkins. 

Anger lent Larry strength. He clasped his 
arms about the kidnapper, and loosened the man’s 
grip on Jimmy. The little chap was yelling with 
fear, but as soon as he caught sight of his brother 
his tears ceased. 

“Take me home, Larry!” he exclaimed. 

Perkins rolled over and over, the force of his 
fall caused by Larry’s sudden impact sending him 
spinning. Then, thinking only of his own safety, 
the man rose to his feet and sped down a secret 
passageway, while Larry gathered Jimmy close in 
his arms. 

Meanwhile Mr. Newton, who had torn off the 
304 


WHAT THE OLD DEED BROUGHT 305 


false beard and wig, was grappling with Ran- 
dall. They were having a fierce struggle, when 
two detectives who had been stationed outside, 
and who had dashed in at the sound of Mr. New- 
ton’s whistle, sprang on Randall, and soon made 
him a prisoner. 

At this the blue-handed man, seeing that the 
game was up, made a spring for the mantel. He 
sought to grasp what looked like an old news- 
paper, but Mr. Newton, seeing his movement, 
sent him sprawling with a blow. 

“Here with the handcuffs, Jack,” the reporter 
cried to one of the detectives, and soon Noddy 
was secured. 

The others of the gang had scattered, and one 
of the detectives was about to follow them down 
a passage that led from the room. 

“Don’t bother,” said Mr. Newton. “They’ll be 
caught before they go very far.” 

“I guess you’ve got us right,” said Noddy. 

“If you only had one guess, you’d win,” re- 
marked the reporter, dryly. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you came, Larry !” exclaimed 
Jimmy. “I was so lonesome! I thought you 
would never get here.” 

“Better get right home with him, Larry,” said 
Mr. Newton. “Your mother will be worried, 
I know.” 

“What about the deed?” asked the young re- 
porter. 

“That’s so,” remarked Mr. Newton. “I sup- 


306 


LARRY DEXTER. , REPORTER 


pose we’ll have a job hunting for it. They’ve 
probably got it hidden away somewhere.” 

At these words Noddy’s face took on a queer 
look, and he almost smiled. 

“Well, we’ll find it later,” said Mr. Newton. 
“The chief thing now is to relieve your mother’s 
anxiety. Take Jimmy home.”' 

“I want my kite,” said the lad. “Can’t go 
without my kite.” 

“I’ll bring it to you later,” said Larry, trying 
to quiet the little boy. 

“No, I want it now,” insisted Jimmy. “There 
’tis, up on the shelf,” and he pointed to where 
one of the Chinese bird kites was on the mantel. 
To please him Larry reached for it. The toy 
seemed to be caught, and, in pulling it down, 
Larry brought a folded newspaper with it. The 
paper fell to the floor. Noddy was eying it nar- 
rowly. 

“Throw the paper away, and bring the kite 
along,” said Larry to Jimmy, who had picked up 
both articles. The little fellow obeyed. Some- 
thing in the way in which the newspaper fell to 
the ground attracted Mr. Newton’s attention. 
He picked it up. As he unfolded it he uttered 
an exclamation. 

“Here’s the missing deed!” he cried. “Well, 
well, this is a lucky find ! We might have hunted 
for a week, and never thought of looking in the 
folds of an old newspaper. Good for you and 
your kite, Jimmy! Here, Larry, take this along 


WHAT THE OLD DEED BROUGHT 307 


home with your brother. Unless I miss my guess, 
it’s going to be worth considerable to you in the 
future.” 

As Larry started away with his brother, the 
deed safely buttoned in an inner pocket, some of 
the detectives began crowding into the room with 
their prisoners. 

“Did you land ’em all right?” asked Mr. New- 
ton. 

“Every one, I guess,” replied Sergeant Bar- 
nett, who was in charge of the squad. “They 
came out of the different exits like rats from their 
holes, and my men nabbed them. We even got 
that kid, Peter. My, but he was a scared one! 
It was all Scanlon could do to hold him, he fought 
so.” 

“Well, I guess you can take ’em away now,” 
said Mr. Newton. “I’ve got to get busy and 
’phone the story in. Don’t say anything to any 
reporters from the other papers, until I have a 
chance to get my yarn in, Barnett.” 

“All right,” promised the sergeant. 

The patrol-wagon was sent for, and soon the 
prisoners were on their way to the station-house. 
In the meanwhile Mr. Newton telephoned in the 
story of the raid on the Rising Sun gang; every 
member who had been in the headquarters having 
been captured. The story was a beat for the 
Leader — one of the biggest of the year. 

As for Larry, he lost no time hurrying home 
with Jimmy and the deed. When he entered the 


308 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


house, Mrs. Dexter was so excited she almost 
fainted, and the neighbors, hearing the good 
news about the return of the kidnapped boy, 
crowded in to learn the particulars. 

Larry told them as well as he could, and then, 
when the rooms became quiet, and the neighbors 
had gone to their apartments, he and his mother 
sat down, and Mrs. Dexter indulged in a good 
cry. Larry felt a little like it himself, now that 
the excitement was over, but he decided it was 
hardly what ought to be done under the circum- 
stances. 

As for Jimmy he hardly knew whether to stand 
on his head or his feet. He danced around, 
hugged Mary, Lucy, his mother, and Larry, and 
then told of his experiences, as well as he could, 
in the Chinese den. 

Meanwhile the prisoners were safely lodged 
in cells, all but Peter. In consideration of his 
youth, he was sent to the rooms of a society that 
took charge of wayward boys. 

As soon as he had telephoned the story in to 
his paper, Mr. Newton went to Larry’s house. 
He had discarded his disguise, leaving the plumb- 
er’s outfit behind, and once more looked like him- 
self. 

“Well, it’s all over, Larry,” he announced, 
“and I guess we came out with flying colors. I 
couldn’t have done it any better myself, inside 
that room with the gang. Your signal came just 
at the right time.” 


WHAT THE OLD DEED BROUGHT 309 


“Oh, I’m so glad it’s over, and that Jimmy is 
safe,” remarked Mrs. Dexter. 

“Well, it isn’t all over yet, by a good bit,” said 
Mr. Newton. “But I trust your worries are. 
Where’s that deed, Larry?” 

“Oh, that old deed,” exclaimed Mrs. Dexter. 
“I never want to see it again. It was the cause 
of all our trouble.” 

“Yes, and it may be the cause of a good deal 
of happiness,” said Mr. Newton. 

“What do you mean?” asked Larry. 

“Why, that paper is the title to a valuable 
piece of real estate. Of course you knew as much 
as that before, but you didn’t know just what. 
It develops that the Board of Aldermen have de- 
cided to make a big park up in the Bronx sec- 
tion. They have been keeping quiet about it so as 
not to have property values in that vicinity rise 
before they had a chance to buy what they 
wanted. But now that they have all they need, 
excepting the piece you have the deed to, they have 
announced their plans. You can read about them 
in the last edition of the Leader” 

“Then our property is part of what will be the 
park?” asked Mrs. Dexter. 

“That’s it, and a valuable part, too. I was 
told by the aldermanic committee that they were 
prepared to offer you twenty thousand dollars 
for the land. If they do, and I think they will, 
I advise you to take it.” 

“Of course we will !” shouted Larry. “Think 


310 LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 

of twenty thousand dollars! We’ll be rich, 
mother !” 

“Well, not exactly rich,” remarked Mr. New- 
ton, “but it will help some.” 

“No wonder the gang wanted to get posses- 
sion of the land,” observed Larry. 

“That was their game,” went on Mr. Newton. 
“They learned you had the deed to one of the 
most valuable pieces. For a long time I could 
not understand why they wanted it. I suspected 
some big improvement was going to be made in 
that section, but I could not learn what. As soon 
as I overheard the conversation in the cigar- 
store that day I got on the track. The rest was 
easy. We only had to follow the different clews, 
and as it happened they all led to one place.” 

“Do you think the gang is mixed up in the 
safe-robbery and the Reynolds jewels job, as well 
as the land transaction?” asked Larry. 

“Of course they are. You see, we practically 
have proof of the safe-robbery, now that we have 
the blue-handed man. As for the Reynolds job, 
the snake ring is enough to fasten that on at least 
one member. 

“They tried to do too much, that was the trou- 
ble. Some of the criminals heard of this land 
scheme from the Aldermen — Beacham espe- 
cially — and they decided to get that money. If 
they succeeded in getting control of the land 
they would have forced the city to pay a very 
high price for it. When they found fair means 


WHAT THE OLD DEED BROUGHT 311 

would not accomplish their object they tried foul. 
But it’s all over now, and we won out.” 

The arrest of the gang, the story in the Leader, 
and the disclosures made concerning the land 
and other operations, made a big sensation. 
Larry and Mr. Newton, who had succeeded not 
only in running the gang to earth, but in getting 
a story that was a beat, were congratulated on all 
sides. 

The stories ran through the papers for several 
days. The proof of the robbery of the jewelry 
store safe was easy, once the blue-handed man 
was in custody. Eventually those concerned in 
it were sentenced to prison for long terms. Then 
it was proved that at least one of the gang, the 
man who had pawned the snake ring, was con- 
cerned in the Reynolds robbery, from which, as 
told in the first volume, Larry was instrumental 
in saving the jewelSj and this time he got back 
the heirloom. 

Regarding the deed, as Mr. Newton had said, 
it proved to be of great value. The city made an 
offer of twenty thousand dollars for the land, 
and Mrs. Dexter sold it. After all expenses and 
some back taxes had been paid, she found she had 
over seventeen thousand dollars, part of which 
belonged to Larry and the other children. 

Peter was sent to a reform school in the hope 
that he would mend his ways, while the men who 
had been instrumental in kidnapping Jimmy, and 
in stealing the deed the night the fire was started 


312 


LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER 


in the tenement, received long sentences in the 
state prison. 

A few days after he had received notification 
that he and his mother would receive the big 
sum for the Bronx land, Larry was back at the 
office. 

“Well, Larry,” said Mr. Emberg, with a smile, 
“I suppose now that you’re fairly well off, you’ll 
not remain a reporter any longer.” 

“I will if you’ll keep me,” replied the youth. 
“I don’t want to go away from the Leader, Mr. 
Emberg. I’ve only just begun to be a good re- 
porter. I haven’t learned half the business yet.” 

“Well, if you want to stay, I’m sure we want 
you,” said the city editor. “We’d hate to have 
you go, Larry.” 

“Then I’m going to stay. I’m going to con- 
tinue my studies, and maybe some day I’ll get a 
real big assignment,” spoke Larry. 

And, with this ambition urging him on, we 
will take leave of Larry for a while. When next 
we hear of him, provided you care to read any 
more of his adventures, you may learn what he 
did in a story called, “Larry Dexter’s Special 
Assignment; or, The Hunt for the Missing Mil- 
lionaire.” 

“So you like reporting, eh?” said Mr. Newton. 

“I certainly do,” answered Larry. “In fact, 
there is nothing that I like better. The life is 
full of excitement.” 

“And occasional perils.” 


WHAT THE OLD DEED BROUGHT 313 

“Well, the dangers can’t be helped, Mr. New- 
ton.” 

“That is true. Well, Larry, I think, if you 
stick at it, you will make one of the best reporters 
in New York — and that is saying a good deal.” 


THE END 







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